A Formidable Formorii - Redux.
by Harry Lime
Summary: Angel Investigations is sued by the actress Rebecca Lowell for emotional distress while her lawyers (guess who?) unlease an ancient sea god from Angel's homeland. (Finally got round to finishing the damn story)


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A Formidable Fomorii: 

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Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all characters are created by Joss Whedon and owned by him, Kazui Sandollar®, Mutant Enemy®, 20th Century Fox® and the Warner Bros. Network®. No copyright infringment is intended anywhere. This is a story purely for entertainment purposes. No profit is gained from this story. The author has no connection to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, except having a complete love for the show. No harm or copyright infringement is intended. 

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Part I.

__

Set between 'Judgement' and 'Are You Now or Have You Ever Been...'

Rebecca whispers: "Angel?"   
Angelus: "Oh, what's the matter? Look a little nervous."   
Rebecca: "You, you're.."   
Angelus: "Free! (Picks up his drink and drains it) You freed me. Mmm. (Sticks a finger in the glass and licks the last of it off his finger) Oh, God. I love this stuff! Wow! (Breaks the glass on a ceiling beam) Remind me to get the name of your dealer – before I kill you."   
Rebecca: "Kill me?"   
Angel twirls the broken glass in his hand: "In all my years, I've never killed a famous person before. But with no witnesses – who's gonna believe me? Maybe we can take a picture. - I know! We do it like we did back in the day. I'll keep your head on a stick – as proof."   
Rebecca: "My head on a stick."   
Angelus: "Well – okay (throws the glass over his shoulder and listens to it break) pike." 

(Eternity: Act IV)

Oliver Simon was a monster, or at least he was paid to be a monster. As a Hollywood agent with a bulging client portfolio it was his job to be as rude and condescending as possible on behalf of the rich & beautiful people he represented. Not that he enjoyed being unpleasant to all and sundry who didn't have at least a three-part mini series with NBC, far from it. In private he was a thoughtful and tender individual but the unavoidable cliché for a successful agent was that everything was 'just business.'

Another reason that he was so successful was his attitude towards his clients; he genuinely cared for them, even the ones he didn't like. It wasn't just a matter of his ten percent, it was his personal work ethic**: **do it right or not at all.

Rebecca Lowell fell squarely into the 'favourite clients' file. More than that, she was his favourite client. He'd first seen her in some amateur production of The Crucible when she was eighteen and promptly signed her up**. **In his opinion she had that rarest showbiz asset: 'star quality.' She could play any role as herself regardless of character**, **background or setting and it would still be a triumph**. **Sean Connery and Jack Nicholson had been getting away with it for years.

He'd gotten her her first TV role as third Romulan from the left on 'Star Trek: Next Generation' and then Raven in **'**On Your Own.'** '**On Your Own**'…**the king of daytime trash soaps, nine (count 'em), nine years at the top of the ratings. And she was the star, two months after meeting him: high school play, suspect forehead and rubber ears, soap opera Queen Bitch. Syndication, non-stop whirl of interviews and professional partying, movie cameo here and there and let**'**s not forget the millions of dollars.

Even after all his years in Hollywood he was still surprised and saddened at what conveniently short memories people can have**.**

'Rebecca,' he called and peered in through the patio window. 'Honey?'

'You forgot the knock,' a timid voice called back.

The knock? Oh yes, that stupid code.

'Yes, yes I did. I'm sorry sweetie, I'm just so excited, I've got good news. Paramount want you to audition for the second female lead patient in 'Back to St Elsewhere.'

'What's the knock?'

Oliver frowned, 'Rebecca, it's broad daylight.'

'_What is it?'_

He sighed and then knocked on the patio door three times with his left hand then three with his right. The he took one step back and one step forward.

'Happy?'

He knew what to expect of course, but it didn't make it any easier when she came into view; not exactly fat to begin with, Rebecca had lost three stones in as many months. The horrendous bags under eyes were a clear testimony that she was still sitting up all night, barricaded in her basement with crucifixes and garlic. And he could smell the vodka through a closed door.

She pulled the patio open and stared at him fearfully.

'Well? Can I come in?'

Her eyes widened in horror. 'You can't can you, not if I refuse!'

'Oh for the love of…' Oliver stepped over the threshold and walked around the living room opening as many windows as he could to get rid of the stale fetid aroma of someone who hadn't left her house for weeks.

'Rebecca it's a beautiful sunny day out there,' he said as gently as he could. 'If I were a…a you know, don't you think I'd be looking a little crispy at the moment?' he paused by the huge wall length mirror (there had been a few more of those added recently) and pointed at his reflection. 'There, see.' 

She hugged herself and had slightly deranged look in her eye. 

'They could have gotten to you, I've seen one. You'd do anything for it not to hurt you.'

She was mumbling to herself more than talking to him, Oliver stopped himself from trying to comfort her, he had to be stern.

'Beccy,' he snapped. 'There is no such thing as a vampire. There are plenty of bloodsuckers in LA as it is. I think Count Dracula would probably find the playing field a bit too crowded.'

She glared at him. 'Well what do you call this,' she demanded, opening her dressing gown to let it partly slide off her right shoulder.'

Oliver looked at the tiny scar. 'It's just a graze.'

__

'Graze, it's a bite mark!'

'Well if a vampire did bite you then he must have been a small one, it looks like you've been nipped by a bird.'

She covered herself up and staggered into the kitchen. 'He was just having a little taste,' she muttered. 

Oliver followed her and tried to keep his temper as he watched her prepare what was no doubt her seventh Bloody Mary of the morning.

'That's an ironic choice for someone obsessed with vampires,' he quipped.

She looked back at him. 'I've seen the movies. It's all true, the blood, the fangs, no reflection, I've been bitten by one. I'm going to become one.'

'Now if that was true do you think I'd still be your agent?'

He ducked as a full glass of Bloody Mary sailed over his head and went through a $5000 glass tabletop. 

Rebecca broke down completely. 'I'm going crazy,' she sobbed and sank to the floor.

Oliver couldn't stand it any longer. 'No you're not, you 're fine kiddo,' he said as he hurried to her side and embraced her. 'You had a horrible experience with a man you thought you could trust - we've all been there.'

She kept crying, but the tears slowly declined from full-on hysteria to the painful snivelling of simple misery.

Oliver put her to bed with Prince Valium, not that she needed it, and made a phone call. He looked at the card he had taken the number from. He'd been chatting about Beccy's problem to a discreet young 'friend' at a private party one night and at the mention of the word 'Vampire' the friend had given him the number of a law firm. _You think you're a tough cookie, Olly, you wait till you see these raptors in action._

Wesley Wyndam-Price looked at his reflection. Not too shabby, he thought. Given his current line of work he didn't often wear a business suit these days, but he had to admit he looked pretty damn dapper**.**

His smile faded as he watched a clothes brush float into view and begin sweeping imaginary lint off his shoulder.

He looked over at the beautiful twenty something woman lounging on the sofa.'Does he have to do that?'

Cordelia Chase gave her co-worker an admonishing look. 'He's only trying to help, Dennis is just as much a part of the team as you. Better really, seeing as he doesn't whine about people driving on the wrong side of the road or stink out my kitchen with icky fried breakfasts.'

'Well no one else cooks in there do they? One half bowl of bran flakes and you're off for a five-mile run before your hips get any bigger.'

'Hey! Do you think I like having you and broody-corpse man hanging around here all the time? At least Angel's quiet and has a reason for being here, since his home was sent into orbit.'

'We can't use my flat as our base of operations**. **It's too small.'

'Yeah, specially since those roaches started subletting to their friends at a discount rate.' 

With that, Cordelia went back to channel-surfing the shopping networks. Wesley waited while her spectral flatmate finished his brushing. After a few seconds an invisible hand gave him a friendly clap on the back and the brush made it's way back to the dresser. 

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the letter and read it for the millionth time.

'What is it with you Americans and suing?' he asked rhetorically. 'Can't you find some other way to settle your disputes?'

'It's an integral part of our rich cultural heritage,' said Cordelia without taking her eyes of the TV. 'Frankly I've been expecting that since thirty minutes after she ran out of the office coughing up pigs blood.' 

Wesley glared at the typed pages. "Emotional distress," he sneered. "Loss of earnings," she got him drunk and fed him drugs,' he said, pointing at the spare bedroom where their undead employer was sleeping away the deadly sunlight hours. 'And she hadn't worked for a year before meeting Angel.'

Cordelia looked at him. 'So? She's a rich and popular TV star, emphasis on rich, who is claiming assault by a former bodyguard. Not exactly unheard of in these parts.' 

'It'll never stand up.'

'Doesn't need to, we've still got more to lose than they have. Who's going to hire a private detective to help them if he's all over the front pages for beating the crap out of Rebecca Lowell while on a champagne-doximol cocktail?'

'No one.'

'And everyone knows it. They'll want to settle i.e. screw us for every last penny.'

Wesley put the letter away and said for the thousandth time 'I'm not a lawyer.'

'No but we can't afford one and you did law at University.'

'One nine month course in criminal law for my first year. And English criminal law at that, I only took it because Art History was full.'

'Well it's nine months of law more than I know and Angel is more familiar with breaking the law that arguing about it.' 

'Doesn't mean I can negotiate.'

'Well at least you look like a lawyer.'

A metaphorical light bulb appeared over Wesley's head. 'Why don't we make an offer? We still have most of the money David Nabbit paid us.'

Cordelia looked away. 'Er, no.'

'Why not? There must be tens of thousands left! Anyway, it's not like we've got anything else.'

'It's gone,' Cordelia said quietly.

Wesley was horrified. 'Gone? How?'

She sighed and looked him straight in the eye. 'Faith.'

Wesley momentarily lost the power of speech; his mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound emerged. When he found his voice all he could manage was a strangled _'W-what?'_

'Angel paid for her lawyer.'

'What lawyer? She made a full-confession! She didn't need a damn lawyer.'

Of course she didn't. Cordelia had screamed at Angel for hours when he told her what he'd done. _Our money! O-U-R M-O-N-E-Y! Not just yours, how the hell could you do that after what she did to Wesley or Buffy or you for God's sake? She 'fessed up! No one made her do it. Trying to help her after she tried to kill us all is one thing but giving her OUR MONEY…_

I wanted her to be properly represented. And that was all he would say on the subject.

And that was all she could say to Wesley because there was nothing else to say. 'He wanted her to be properly represented.'

Wesley looked like he'd swallowed a bottle of ammonia. 'Fine,' he whispered. 'FINE,' he shouted and stomped out. 'I'll tell you this,' he said as he walked out,' if you and I hadn't been mentioned in this lawsuit by name I'd let Wolfram & Hart take what's left of this third-rate agency and spoon feed it to Rebecca bloody Lowell.'

Lindsey MacDonald watched the spilt red wine spread out over his white tablecloth. _Like blood,_ he thought. 

The waiter/resting actor dabbed at the puddle with a napkin. 'Oh my god, I'm terribly sorry Mr. MacDonald.'

He smiled, 'Accidents happen.' In fact it hadn't been the waiters fault at all; he'd reached for the wine with his prosthetic hand and knocked the glass over, like he'd done a dozen times already since Angel had sliced his real right hand off. However, it was a pricey restaurant and Wolfram & Hart lawyers were regulars, ergo nothing was ever their fault.

He waited patiently while one of the waiters' colleagues joined him in clearing away the mess and laid a new table. When it was done he made a small mental note to have the management fire the first waiter (why the hell not, he was already damned so might as well enjoy it). He thought back on his last conversation with Oliver Simon:

__

There can be no question of this going to court. None, it would be instant ruin for Rebecca's career.

And it won't get to that, you have my word. These things rarely get as far as court, Oliver, the law in these sort of cases only gets to trail if both sides are hellbent on mutually assured destruction. You don't want trail and they don't want a trial. It's brinkmanship, and the one with the most to lose will blink first. They have the most to lose, believe me.

And it wouldn't get to court, not in the way Oliver had in mind but that hadn't been top of Holland Manner's list of priorities when he gave Lindsey this assignment.

A waiter appeared, 'Excuse me Mr. MacDonald, your guest has arrived.'

Lindsey's smile broadened as he took in the familiar slim figure weaving his way around the other diners. _There are days when this job is just too easy _he thought as he rose to greet his 'opponent.'

'Wesley.'

The ex-watcher was stone faced. 'Mr. MacDonald,' he said coldly.

'So formal, please sit down.'

Wesley took his seat and held his briefcase on his knees, like a shield.

'Want some wine?' Lindsey picked up the bottle and reached over the table to pour.

Wesley put his hand over the top of glass. 'No thank you.'

'Not thirsty?'

'Driving. Besides, it wouldn't surprise me if you'd poisoned it.'

Lindsey chuckled and topped up his glass. 'Rule of thumb at Wolfram & Hart, no poisoning over the negotiation table.'

'Is that what this is? I thought it was some petty attempt to get on our nerves by suing us for money you know we don't have.'

'I'm not suing anyone, I'm merely representing my client to the best of my abilities. Mr. Oliver Simon is suing you for revenues lost after you turned his star client into Howard Hughes.'

Wesley bridled. 'What revenues? She wasn't working.'

'Ah, but there have been several lucrative offers made to Ms. Lowell which she has turned down owing to the fact she's refusing to leave her home. Not only would they have reignited her career, they would have made Mr. Simon a pretty penny. There was nothing to suggest that she would have turned such offers down prior to her hiring your agency to protect her.'

'She wasn't even being stalked! Simon got an out of work stuntman to harass her to get some free publicity.'

'You have proof of Mr. Simon's involvement in that? Other than the word of an out of work stuntman with a record?'

'No.'

'Not important then.'

Wesley thought for a second. 'Who made these 'lucrative' offers?'

'Not at liberty to divulge their identities at present. Trust me though, if necessary they'll be there to take the oath.'

'I'll bet.'

The waiter came over to take Wesley's order. Lindsey interrupted him before he could inquire as to what sir's pleasure was. 'No need for that, my guest isn't staying.'

'I'm not?'

'God, no, you're going to need every penny you have, and even if you didn't I doubt you could afford what this place charges. See you in court _counsellor.'_

Wesley glared at Lindsey for a few seconds then got up to leave. He tried to think of some witty comeback and when nothing occurred he went for a direct insult. 'What was it like having your hand cut off?' He said loudly enough for the whole restaurant to hear. 

Not exactly Oscar Wilde but the memory was fresh enough in Lindsey's mind to touch a nerve. The lawyer went scarlet as he watched Wesley leave, 'When we're through you'll know what's it like and then some,' he whispered through clenched teeth. 

Angel was seated at the breakfast table and calmly reading the daily paper when Wesley flounced in, threw his briefcase on the floor and then kicked it across the room. 

Angel sipped from the glass of blood that Cordelia had prepared for him and carried on with his reading. 'Tough meeting?' he asked without looking up.

'What meeting? There wasn't any meeting. All it was was Lindsey MacDonald on a wind-up to drag one of us halfway across town****for nothing! Smug git. You should have cut his head off, not just his hand.'

Cordelia walked in and looked at Wesley with surprise. 'Whoa, I didn't think you'd be back that quickly.'

'Neither did I.'

Angel folded up his paper and leaned back in his chair. 'Wesley, did you seriously think they'd want to haggle? Even if we had the three million Oliver Simon is asking for they'd find someway to scupper it.'

Unusually for her, Cordelia winced at the mention of money. She hadn't told Angel that Wesley knew about Faith.

Wesley didn't waste anytime. 'Speaking of money, why don't we hire a lawyer with the money David Nabbit paid us?'

The sarcasm was unmistakable, Angel glanced at Cordelia. 'You told him.'

'He asked while you were sleeping,' she said quietly**.**

'Yes she bloody told me! How dare you make that decision without consulting us.'

'Hey, I'm the boss here. So long as you get paid it's no concern of yours what I do with my money.'

'_Oh!_ When we met David Nabbit I was your 'associate', now I'm just a skivvy to be left out of the loop because my opinion of people who torture me doesn't carry any weight.'

'Well I was pretty sure what you'd say. I thought you'd have gotten over this by now.'

'She carved me up with broken glass, she didn't steal my lunch money.'

Cordelia was making her way to her room to avoid the pointless bickering when she stumbled. Steadying herself on the breakfast table she looked up at her friends, who were now arguing chin to chin. 'Guys…' she croaked.

'_I'm worth more than just being your errand boy you know.'_

'fellas…'

Abraham Barker had lived a good life. Good job, loving family, no real worries to speak of. Taking that short cut was a stupid thing to do. He was halfway down the alleyway when a hooded figure limped out from behind a dumpster ten feet in front of him. The figure turned to face Abraham and lifted its hood…

Cordelia Chase screamed in pain as she saw the last moments of Abraham Barker's life through his eyes.

Despite the embarrassment of Wesley's petty taunting, Lindsey was in a good mood as he sauntered back to his office, warmed by the rosy glow of a few glasses of expensive wine. His smile faded as he walked into find Holland Manners sitting behind his desk.

'Lindsey,' the older man said. 'Good lunch?'

'Er, yes sir.'

'Good. Mr. Simon is dropping the lawsuit.'

The rosy glow faded. 'Why?'

'Wouldn't say but I suspect it maybe something to do with that poor woman Angel terrorised. I've never watched 'On Your Own' but Mrs. Manners tells me she's a very good actress. Shame really.'

He got up to leave. As he walked past Lindsey he said,' The senior partners have informed me that they'd prefer it if this lawsuit played out for a bit longer. So I've told them that you've already taken care of it. There is a car outside waiting to take you to Miss. Lowell.'

****

When Cordelia came to she found herself lying on the sofa to find Wesley and Angel hovering over her. A cold flannel was being dabbed on her brow by invisible hands. 'Thanks Dennis,' she murmured.

Wesley had his notebook at the ready. 'What did you see and where?'

'Its eye…'

'I'm sorry?'

'Its eye…'

'Cordelia,' Angel was worried. Cordelia had only ever blacked out over a vision once before and the overwhelming experience almost ate away her sanity.

'I'm fine,' she whispered. 'That one was intense.'

'What did you see?'

'A man, alleyway between Selhurst and Diamond. Something looked at him. Take your time, he's already dead.'

Lindsey was not having much luck. 'Ms. Lowell if you'll just hear me out.'

'Go away,' she yelled. 'You're not supposed to be here. Oliver hired you, you shouldn't be approaching me.'

'This is not what you think.'

'If Oliver sues him he'll come back for me, I know he will.'

Lindsey took his finger off the gate intercom and cursed. He looked up at the palatial home atop the half-mile driveway and tried to work out again why this scrappy lawsuit was so important. Iit wouldn't do much more than annoy Angel. They were hardly likely to chase him out of town with it.

He pressed the button again. 'Ms. Lowell, Mr. Simon dropped the lawsuit because you told him to.'

'I said I'd leave the country if he carried on,' her voice crackled back. 'I just want to be left alone.'

'No you don't Ms. Lowell, you want to feel safe. You want to be able to go shopping without fearing for your life, you want to be able to eat out again, and you want to be able to step in front of a camera again. You want your life back and if you don't work with me that will never happen because _Angelus_ will always be out there.'

There was a shocked pause. 'What did you say?'

'I said Angelus will always be there, patient and immortal.'

'You know what he is?'

'I know almost everything there is to know about him, Ms. Lowell. This is what my firm deals with. We've amassed a huge file on your vampire friend. Mr. Simon might not be aware of their existence but Wolfram & Hart is. Work with us and you can have your life back.'

There was no response.

'Ms. Lowell?'

The intercom buzzed and the gates slowly swung inwards.

****

Angel and Wesley had found Abraham Barker. 

'Dear god,' whispered the Englishman. 'This thing just looked at him?'

'That's what Cordelia said.'

They stared at the roasted cadaver for another minute. The smell of singed flesh had already caused Wesley to retch once and was threatening to do so again.

'I mean, his skin's been burnt off.'

'I know.'

'It took a few bites out of him…'

Angel looked around the darkened alleyway; sunlight was covering either end. 'Get the car and reverse it down here.'

'Why?'

'Cause we're taking him with us.'

'_What?'_

'We'll put it in the trunk and bury him somewhere, on a construction site maybe or we'll weigh the body down and hide it in a sewer.'

'Angel…'

The vampire knelt down and picked up a wallet that was lying on the floor. He opened it and removed a photograph and held up to Wesley's face.

'If you were them what would you prefer? Spending your life wondering what happened to a father you can't even remember or being told by your emotionally crippled mother that he was burnt alive and eaten? 

Wesley looked at the photo of baby triplets. 'Not much of a choice.'

'No but I'm making it for them. Trust me, when people say they'd rather know one way or the other a lot of them really, really wouldn't. Now go get the car.'

Mid-afternoons were a drag, but that was before the lapdancers had been signed up! The Anagogic Host looked around the Caritas and the heaving crowds of slobbering males. _Ching Ching! _

Genius, though he had to be modest about it and admit it was Ramone's idea to strike a deal with Madam Dorian's demon brothel. That said, he had taught Ramone everything he knew, so that did make it his idea really.

Some sports cable, a bit of the old soul-reading karaoke early afternoon and then on with the gyrating honeys to take up the slack till the after-work trade arrived. They'd been coining it in for weeks and those demon girls loved a man who could really look deep into their souls and tell them what they wanted to hear. _Hubba Hubba!_

The audience had gotten to the slow hand clapping stage. Time for one more song to whip them up to the frenzied peak of showering the girls with cash.

He bounded onto the stage. 'Caritas extends a hearty welcome to all the red-green-purple and yellow blooded males in the house!' _Lots of obnoxious whooping and cries of 'Let's see some pussy.' _

'But before we provide your eyes with a feast of physical perfection - and remember while on the premises you act like gentlemen if you want to retain those items that makes you gentlemen - we've time for one more song!'

__

Anguished howls.

The Host held up his hands to appeal for calm. 'Now, now. Be an attentive and appreciative audience and our first act of the afternoon will be _Celeste and her horn of aaaaaaa-plentyyyyyyyyyyyyy!' _

Lots of obnoxious whooping.

'There you go. And for our final melody of the afternoon here's a fella new in town with a little ditty from the Emerald Isle.'

The Host skipped over to the bar, frowned, rapped impatiently on the top and called out to the young barman, 'Ramone! You know those creative juices commonly associated with artistes? Well, I don't make them naturally, mine have to be replenished by a dose of Seabreeze every time I'm not on the stage.' 

Ramone muttered an apology and set about fixing his drink.

Satisfied, the Host turned to the stage and watched the hooded figure shuffle up to the microphone.

'Need to do something about those garments honey,' he said to himself. 'Monk's robes have never been in.' 

Ramone handed him his drink. 'Ooh, lovely.' He raised the glass and then dropped it as he heard the hooded figure's wet and sibilant voice drift over the crowd…

'_Ohhhhhhhh Danny Boy…'_

The Host barely had time to yell '**EVERYBODY OUT!!!**' Before the figure raised its hood.

'_The pipes, the pipes are calling…'_

****

Cordelia Chase was still on her sofa when she grabbed the sides of head, arched her back, and screamed and screamed and screamed.

'From glen to glennnnnnnnnnn…..'

****

Part II

__

Angel: "Us. You put your faith in Wolfram and Hart."   
Lindsey: "You said I had to make a choice."   
Angel: "And you did."   
Lindsey: "Yeah. I had a crisis - and I want to thank you for your help with that - but I see things more clearly now."

(To Shanshu in LA: act IV)

Rebecca Lowell had spent the best part of two hours reading through the files Lindsey had bought with him. The lawyer sat patiently with her while she read, not saying a word. Once or twice she started to cry as she leafed through incidents where Angelus had slaughtered children.

When she finished she got up and fixed herself a strong drink. She downed it in one go and then glanced at Lindsey's prosthetic. 'Did he do that?' 

Lindsey nodded and she started crying again.

'Ms. Lowell, you can see from our files that Angelus spent the mid-eighteenth to late nineteenth centuries brutalizing Europe. We have more recent examples as well if you wish to view them**. **He spent several months in a town called Sunnydale during which time there was a sharp increase in killings - even for a town with such a high undead population.'

Rebecca finished her drink and immediately started on another. 'What do you need me for?' 

'We need you to keep him occupied**. **The senior partners at my firm are devising a way to take this monster out of the frame once and for all, and for that he needs to be kept busy.'

'Busy! By coming after me? I won't do it.'

'No one is asking you take such a risk. All we ask is that you allow Mr. Simon to continue with his lawsuit. If you feel your safety is in question, Wolfram & Hart can provide round the clock security with men who have been trained to deal with vampires.'

She shook her head. 'I don't know…'

'Ms. Lowell, I urge you think about this very carefully. For all we know this fiend might be disposing of another victim even as we speak…'

Angel had disposed of the poor Mr. Barker by hiding him in a section of disused sewer. The man's fingerprints had been burnt off but in case the corpse was ever discovered he undertook the grisly business of removing his teeth as well**. **Barker's family would spend the rest of their lives wondering what had happened to him but it had to be better than the alternative. 

__

How many families over the decades had spent their lives looking in vain for a loved one who had the misfortune to run into you?

Wesley had done his best handling Barker but it hadn't been easy for him and so he had been left behind when it came to concealing the body. Angel returned to his car to find the Watcher sitting on the hood and wearing his 'flustered' expression.

He tossed Angel the mobile phone. 'Cordelia just called. She's spent the afternoon out cold on the floor - it's happened again…'

Oliver was confused. 'You want me to sue them again?'

'Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. In fact they don't know that you've dropped the lawsuit so up the ante, I want you to sue them for five million dollars!'

Oliver blushed. 'Actually I was sort of tweaking the three million, kiddo, the sum total of those offers you turned down barely touched the nine hundred thou mark.'

'WHAT? I'm only worth 900 - never mind that, I want you to put the screws to these people. Pile it on.'

He wasn't quite sure what had been going on since they'd last spoken but Oliver had been astonished by Beccy's call. She never called him anymore.

__

We have to talk, meet at Coppelia's in half an hour.

She was going out in public? It had finally happened; she'd flipped. Tomorrow morning the tabloids would be covered of pictures of her with her head shaved and wearing nothing but a sheet and trying to direct traffic.

The Rebecca Lowell who turned up at her favourite restaurant was nothing like the unwashed and bedraggled agoraphobic who'd thrown her cocktail at him a couple of days ago. She'd washed, done something with her hair, put on freshly laundered clothes and actually appeared to be sober.

She was still painfully thin but she seemed eager to do something about that when she ordered the jumbo tex-burger with an extra helping of curly fries. 

'Beccy,' he hissed, 'I'm not complaining, God knows, but when someone in Hollywood turns up looking they've spent a few weeks in Auschwitz and then promptly orders the greasiest dish on the menu, people are going to think, well…' 

Rather than say the word he stuck a couple of fingers in his mouth and made a discreet gagging noise.

'C'mon Oliver I'm not bulimic,' she said loudly enough to ensure that every gossip columnist in a fifteen-mile radius would be hinting at that very thing for the early evening additions. 'I just went a bit overboard after Angel that's all.'

__

A bit. 'Alright you've turned it around. What particular life-affirming event has happened to convince you you're not turning into one of the undead?'

'Oliver, don't be bitchy. I just took a look at myself in the mirror, really looked and saw myself. I said to myself,' and at this point the burger was put down so she could put both hands over her heart,' you are a beautiful person. You have a gift and no psycho is going to stop you from sharing it with the world.'

'So he's just a psycho now and not a vampire.'

'Plenty of psychos in LA, Olly.'

'You're telling me? I've been an Hollywood agent for twenty years.'

'So, here I am. Ready for my relaunch.'

He didn't look convinced. 'Who's talked you round?'

'No one, there's no one I trust more than you, you've been with me through all of this.'

__

Well, well. 'Okay,' he said aloud and poured them both a glass of mineral water - she'd ordered it as well, claiming she was going to dry out for a couple of months, 'Here's to your career, mark II. We'll start off with a few million from Mr. Angel.'

The main door to Caritas had been torn off its hinges by people too terrified and fixated on getting from 'A' to anywhere to worry about solid objects placed in their way. The smell of barbecued flesh had wafted up into the street and to his credit Wesley had been willing to accompany Angel into the bar.

'You can wait in the car if you like.'

'Oh, fair enough. Call if you need any help.'

The stairs leading down into the place were caked with caramelized blood, a couple of charred demon skeletons were strewn on the steps and their legs were twisted at awkward angles. They'd clearly stumbled in their attempt to escape and been trampled**. **Angel imagined them pitifully crawling up the stairs as whatever had done this came up behind them.

On the whole he had long since been desensitized to the sight of blood and death. The death of the innocent still troubled him but it had been a long while since he'd seen anything that made him nauseous.

That was about to change.

Every seat in the steaming main bar was occupied by a skeleton. Every single seat. Bodies were gently smouldering as they slumped over tables or leant back in their chairs, skulls right back, jaws hanging down as if they were snoring. The blood was everywhere.

A hand grabbed his ankle and he quickly pulled back and vamped out.

'pleeeeesssss,' He didn't know what kind of demon it was** - **how could he? Its skin was gone, like all the others, but it was still moving, crawling towards him through a congealing pool of boiled blood, dragging the shattered stumps where its legs should have been. It looked up at him but there was no way it could see who it was addressing, its eyes had long since burst from their sockets. 

'pleeeessssss.'

It didn't need to ask again. Angel knelt down and gripped the sides of its skinned head and twisted sharply.

He stepped away from the corpse and stared at his blood - soaked hands. He looked back at the carnage and tried to find his voice. He couldn't.

The sound of breaking glass nearly caused him to leap through the ceiling. He looked behind the bar, where the noise had come from, and found two survivors**: **the barman (Ramone?) and the Host.

Ramone had knocked over an empty bottle of tequila. The human was stuffed in a little nook under the bar whispering to himself. He probably didn't even know Angel was there.

The Host on the other hand was just sitting there, cross-legged, in plain sight, swigging from another bottle of tequila that wasn't far from joining its empty twin. 

Angel found his voice. 'What happened?'

The Host slowly turned to face him. When he spoke it was clear he was speaking from a long way away. 'Y'got me honey,' he said quietly. 'It was clearly taking everything he had to get through the next five minutes. 'Ramone does me a Seabreeze, didn't have it ready when I came off stage, he knows he should have it ready when I'm done. Some cat was going to sing before the ladies came on and did their thing. They must be dead. Madam Dorian's going to be mighty pissed. This guy started up and I knew that everyone in the room was dead, just like that. Like someone had unplugged a Christmas Tree and all the fairy lights went out. I dived behind the bar just when the screaming kicked off.' 

'Who?'

'Don't know, never been in that position before. Never seen an aura like that one, certainly never read a soul like that one.'

'Something with a soul did this?'

'Hm, frightening isn't it. It loved it, every second. You know the image I got, the image of someone who hasn't touched a drop for years having a little sip and thinking 'Wow, I'd better start making up for lost time.' All this was just him getting ready for something special.'

'WHO? You must have read something I can use?'

The Host finished off the bottle and leaned back against the bar. 'Only got one word, don't know what it means but…'

'What?'

'Fomorii, I read the word Fomorii and I saw it plastered over every building in the city, in red.'

In an effort to shake off the extreme nausea the afternoon's visions had brought, Cordelia had showered and was planning on treating herself to a credit card hemorrhaging shopping spree. However, this was cut short by the arrival of the bailiffs.

'Hey, what?' As soon as she opened the door five men of the burly variety shouldered their way in and started picking up the furniture.

'What the hell do you think you're doing? Put my TV down.'

'Our TV,' said a weedy five foot nothing man who had appeared in the doorway. He gave off the immediate impression of having been the kid who hangs around with the school bully at playtime and talks tough to all and sundry. 'Or rather it's the Court's TV, you should have been there to challenge the court order.' He handed her an envelope. 'Consider yourself evicted.'

__

'What? What order?'

'Someone hasn't been paying their rent have they,' he looked Cordelia up and down and then actually licked his lips. 'Shame, good-looking girl like you being short of funds. Y'know if you fancy earning some extra cash I've know of a 'job' you could perform for me.'

It was at this point that an invisible fist smacked him in the mouth.

After a grisly couple of hours helping the Host remove dozens of charred bodies, Angel and Wesley (who was seriously considering becoming vegetarian) returned to find Cordelia sitting on the kerb with a couple of suitcases.

'This is getting too embarrassing,' she grumbled. 'First Daddy gets lifted by the IRS and now I'm out on the street - again!'

'Why?'

'Oh, somehow my rent is leaving my account every month but not reaching my landlord. So he sends me a letter asking where the money is, then he sends another one, then he sends a threatening one, then he sends a court order and now he's sent an eviction notice. I don't know where the money's gone and never got any letters from him, I guess it would be pretty slanderous to try and connect this to the fact he's represented by Wolfram & Hart wouldn't it.'

Angel sighed. 'Probably.'

'I mean, how much influence can this firm have?'

Wesley shrugged. 'There's no point is hanging around here, let's head back to my place - if I still live there that is. I need a shower before I can think straight.'

Cordelia noticed how pale he was. 'What was it at Caritas?'

Wesley just walked back to the car and got in without answering. 

'We've no idea,' said Angel. 'All we found there was a room full of people who'd been fried alive. The Host survived; the only thing he could tell us about it was the word 'Fomorii.'

'What's that?'

'No idea, it might be the things name, might be its species - we don't know. Wesley thinks the word has a Celtic origin but to be honest I don't know if he's up to much at the moment.'

'Doesn't surprise me, that's twice I've seen this thing in action and it felt like my head had been set on fire. Are you going to carry my cases to the car or am I going to have to fetch Wesley to do it?'

'Uh? Oh, yeah. Listen, don't worry about your apartment,' he said as they made their way to the car. 'We'll get this sorted before anyone else rents it out.'

Cordelia shrugged. 'That's not going to be a problem,' she said and then turned to the apartment. 'Bye Dennis, you know what to do, right?'

The phone smashed through a window.

'That's my boy.' 

When he returned to the office Lindsey hadn't been expecting that much from Holland Manners, but a thank you would have been nice. 'My office,' was all he said when he rang down to Lindsey's room. 

Lindsey tried to think if there was anything he'd done wrong. Maybe the firm had changed its mind over the time he'd gone to Angel for help in saving those kids. For one giddy moment he seriously considered fleeing the building, pointless he'd be dead before he reached the lobby. 

Fortunately, to his almost orgasmic relief, Holland's bout of ill temper was nothing to do with him. 'Come in, come in,' the older man said irritably. 'Close the door, sit down. Excellent work with Rebecca Lowell by the way.'

'Thank you sir.'

'Damn clients, our work here wouldn't have anywhere near as many problems if the damn clients would just do as they're told.'

'Yes sir.'

'I'm ranting here Lindsey, no need for constant agreement.'

'Yes sir.**' **

'I'm sure you had better things to do with your time this afternoon than make non-threatening small talk with some spoilt washed-up moron with a well known alcohol problem.'

'Yes sir.'

'Bet you're curious as to why the senior partners are so concerned with some Mickey Mouse lawsuit over some agent's lost ten percent.'

'Well…'

'Quid pro quo, son, quid pro quo. One of this firm's more important clients has an interest in Ms. Lowell, which means you and I now have an interest in her. In exchange for his help in removing a few, ah, problems the senior partners are tying themselves in knots to accommodate him.'

'Who?'

'Not at liberty to say, yet. However, needless to say a certain amount of discretion is required when handling client of the senior partners.'

'Of course.'

'And that has gone right out the window since our _client_, who is new in town, decided to do a bit of sight-seeing and has undoubtedly drawn the attention of our favourite vigilante and his friends.'

'Oh.'

'Oh. What I'm going to need from you on this oneis for you to be at the beck & call of Oliver Simon and Rebecca Lowell if necessary. Keep them sweet while I try persuading our client not to incinerate all who cross his path…'

After a wash and couple of stiff brandies, Wesley seemed to unwind and became more switched on. As he ploughed his way through one of the crumbling books that occupied two-thirds of his miniscule apartment, Cordelia and Angel did their best to get comfortable.

'Would it have killed you to have bought some real seats?' snapped Cordelia as tried to stop herself falling off an inflatable armchair, Angel was busy fidgeting on a beanbag.

Despite the horrors of the afternoon, Wesley was still brooding over Faith. 'Well, if I had bit more money I could buy some proper furniture. You know, spend it on something that wouldn't get off on slitting my throat.**' **

Angel was too tired to argue. 'Wesley, if this is such a problem then as soon as we find this thing that struck at Caritas I'll buy you a Chesterfield.'

'That's not the point and you know it, but something in red leather would be nice.' He read quietly for a few more pages and then looked up at Angel and said 'Are you sure you never came across the word Fomorii before?'

'No. Should I have?'

'No, no real reason I just thought you might have stumbled across it seeing as they hail from Ireland as well.' 

'They!' said Cordelia. 'There's more than one?'

'According to this book, yes - thousands. But the thing is they shouldn't exist at all, they're myths.'

With some effort, Angel managed to get out of the beanbag and read over Wesley's shoulder. 'So are Vampires,' he said.

'Well yes but these things are legends even amongst demons.'

'So what are they?' asked Cordelia.

Wesley went into lecture mode. 'According to this book the Fomorii were a terrible race of sea gods, the original rulers of Ireland.'

'Lemme guess, not begin on civic virtue.' 

'Nowhere near, they were tyrants in the worst sense of the word. Deformed mutants with hideous magical powers who demanded sacrifices and plundered the land.'

Angel didn't sound convinced. 'So how come I haven't heard of them?'

'Well they fled the land thousands of years ago, tens of thousands perhaps. They were defeated at the battle of Magh Tuireadh by the Tuatha De Danann and the survivors returned to the sea and they haven't been heard of since.'

'I've heard of the Tuatha, the old High Ones of Ireland. They left Ireland thousands of years back.'

'Along with all the other pure blood demons to escape the rise of man. But the Fomorii are even older and all they did, according to myth, is return to the sea.'

Cordelia was rattled. 'Hold on, pure demons, like Mayor Wilkins? The thing I saw was mean but it wasn't big.'

Wesley shrugged. 'Not wanting to sound like Cosmopolitan but size isn't important, not where power is concerned. Mayor Wilkins ascended into a pure blood all right but his power was nothing more than brute strength. The Fomorii didn't have to worry about that.' 

'You mean they've all got the killer stare.'

'No, just their leader. Balor.'

'Not a friendly bunny.'

'No, he was a cyclops, a death god who could eviscerate anyone he looked at. That's why you saw him with a hood. According to the legend the Fomorii didn't need to fight at Magh Tuireadh, they just stood behind Balor and watched as he burnt the Tuatha, thousands died.'

Angel frowned. 'So what stopped him?'

'A warrior called Lugh hit Balor in the eye with a slingshot, the blow knocked his eye through the back of his skull and it's gaze killed most of the Fomorii. The survivors ran and they haven't been seen since. Till now. And on current evidence I'd have to go out on a limb say that Balor wasn't killed either.'

Cordelia summed it up. 'So, we don't know where he is, why he's here, how to stop him, and every time he kills someone they jump into my head to let us know where to find the body. And we're being sued for millions of dollars and I've been evicted. Anyone get the feeling the Powers That Be are under the impression that we're just not trying hard enough?**'**

Holland Manners rode the lift down to the firm's basement. When the apocalypse came (and it was coming) the place was designed to be a perfect place for the senior members of the Wolfram & Hart family to hide in while the armies of good and evil sorted out their petty squabbling. It was also useful to accommodate some of the firm's more dangerous clients when they came to town. 

He wandered into the main area and addressed the hooded figure sitting in the centre of the room. 'Lord Balor, I thought you weren't going out till it was necessary?'

'_I was bored, after tens of thousands of years floating off the north west coast of Ireland I felt the need to see a bit of life, and kill it._**' **

'Perfectly understandable, but I wish you'd come to us first. Part of Wolfram & Hart's creed is to ensure the needs of our clients are satisfied. We could have provided you with plenty of people to kill. We've a dozen temps in accounts that would have been perfect for you.' 

'_I wanted to stretch my legs, it's been so long since I used them for walking.'_

'All right but next time, please, let us know so we can take the necessary precautions. It's for your own safety.'

'_My safety?'_ Balor seemed to find the notion amusing. '_What is there that can harm me? I saw the demons in that tavern, posturing idiots who were nothing but brawn. Are they the best this city can offer?'_

'There are others out there who might surprise you.'

Balor's tone was dismissive. '_If they challenge me I will kill them. I'll kill you if you try and lecture me again little man.'_

Holland took a step back. 'Of course, I wasn't trying to be rude. I just don't want anything to disrupt the arrival of your people.'

'_Yes...I'm sorry Holland, I'm sure you have my best interests in your mortal heart. What about the woman?'_

'Oh, er, Miss. Lowell. That's all in hand as well.'

__

'Good, good,' Balor sniggered to himself. _'When my people arrive we will find a new kingdom for ourselves. I will be a king again and king must have a queen.'_

Holland looked at the wall that was plastered with magazine pictures of Rebecca Lowell, he wondered how Balor would react when he found out she'd let herself go somewhat. Miss. Lowell probably wouldn't enamoured with her new husband either, but then again who cared about her? 

'Absolutely,' he smiled. 'I'm sure you'll make a lovely couple.' 

****

Part III

(Just seen the transcript for Epiphany, let's pretend that Wesley has moved apartments recently okay!) 

__

Holland: Are you afraid? (Lindsey nods slightly) Well, that's understandable. You betrayed this firm by allaying yourself with someone who - has given us a great deal of grief. - You've stolen important documents form our vault. - Tried to sabotaged an extremely important case. - And in the course of this egregious behavior - you lied to us - more importantly, to me. - Did I leave anything out?"   
Lindsey: "No, sir."   
Holland: "Did you actually believe I wouldn't learn everything?"   
Lindsey: "I..."   
Holland: "Lindsey, this is a delicate moment. - I nod to Phil behind me - and he's gonna put a bullet in your head." 

(Blind Date: Act IV)

Lindsey had spent a sleepless night because of Rebecca Lowell. The damn woman had been on the phone all night pouring her heart out to him. Now that Rebecca knew there were people out there who not only knew of vampires but also actually had the means and wherewithal to fight them she was embracing her one connection to that world.

__

Oliver doesn't understand any of this. Usually I could go to him with anything but I couldn't with this. He just thinks Angel is some unbalanced pretty-boy, you can stop him can't you Lindsey? You can give me my life back?

Trust me Ms. Lowell…

Beccy, please.

Beccy, when Wolfram & Hart is done your life will be Angel - free.

God knew what it would be like but Lindsey would have put money on the fact that 'Beccy's' life wouldn't involve Angel. The only thing he was totally sure of was that she wouldn't like how it was going to turn out and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

As he walked into the main lobby he quickly pushed the guilt to the back of his mind, 'act now and repent at leisure' - he'd have plenty of time for that. _It's easier to get forgiveness than permission_, the creed of one particularly obnoxious jock who Lindsey had had the misfortune to go to high school with (the man was a Republican congressman now). What was really bothering him was Holland's reluctance to reveal who this mystery client was, secrecy was nothing new at W&H but he was actively working for the 'special projects' division now. He had personally raised someone from the dead and lost his hand in the process**; **now if that wasn't commitment then what was? 

The lift doors opened and Lindsey and fifteen other lawyers crammed in, he gave Lilah Morgan a frosty smile and went back to suppressing his guilt. He knew all the lawyers in the lift by sight but it wouldn't surprise him if one was an empathic spy for the management, especially Lilah. 

__

Those blind kids that was the only reason he could think of as to why Holland was being so coy. Those children were very important to the Powers That Be, making them a deadly threat to the senior partners, and Lindsey had saved them, with a little help. That was the thing though, they were total innocents: Rebecca Lowell wasn't an innocent, so why was he feeling guilty? He'd been willing to condemn Angel's friend Cordelia to a life of madness and he hadn't given it a second thought when the explosion that destroyed Angel's offices had almost killed Wesley. He'd gone to those people for help and they couldn't respond fast enough and he wasn't bothered about their lives.

__

But they know the score, they know full well what they're struggling against and it just makes them fight harder. They're fair game.

And clearly someone had decided Rebecca Lowell was fair game as well.

His pager began to vibrate. He awkwardly reached into his pocket and got it: _when everyone else gets out you stay in. _

'Can I help you with something?' he snapped at Lilah, who was craning over his shoulder to see what the message was. She smiled and said nothing.

The lift reached its destination, the doors opened to reveal Holland Manners and everyone but Lindsey was suddenly in even more of a hurry to get their desks. After fifteen separate 'Good morning Mr. Manners' Holland, who had a folder tucked under one arm, got into the lift and as the doors closed Lindsey saw the last man to get out turn and give him a friendly wink. Holland pressed the button marked 'B' and then nodded at the doors. 

'Kevin is proving to be something of an asset, when he started with us he had some basic empathic skills and it only took him two-years to reach full telepath status,' he said as the lift descended. 'You're quite right, Miss Lowell is fair game because although she's not fully aware of how things work she knows enough. Of course even if she didn't it wouldn't make a whole lot of difference to us but you do whatever's necessary for you to feel comfortable with this.'

'It's not really a feeling of guilt sir, it's just…well she's a fourth - rate actress, not exactly important.'

Holland gave Lindsey a fatherly pat on the shoulder. 'Exactly, so who's going to miss her?'

'I'm not…I'm not planning on betraying you again sir.'

'I know that son, otherwise it would have been my friend Phil the Guard waiting for you when the doors opened. Now that you've worked out your issues lets introduce you to our client.'

The smell hit Lindsey as soon as the lift doors opened. 'Never had much of a sense of smell myself,' said Holland as the younger man's eyes began to water. 'But I imagine it's not pleasant, try not to look too revolted - offending him isn't a good idea.'

'No - uck - sir.'

The client was sitting crossed legged in the middle of the basement floor, surrounded by large piles of dead fish. It had its back to them and was hunched over one of the fish and making a stomach-turning slurping noise.

Holland cleared his throat. 'Lord Balor…' the thing raised its head, 'I'd like you to meet Lindsey MacDonald, the man who will secure Miss Lowell for you.'

__

'Ooh, hang on.' Balor stood up and threw a desiccated fish on the floor. _'Mr. MacDonald,'_ he said as he shuffled across the floor and shook Lindsey's unresisting hand. '_I can't tell you how grateful I am for the service you're providing for me and people.'_

Lindsey stared at the webbed and blood stained hand that was vigorously pumping his own up and down, he could see tendrils of fish gut handing from the fingernails. He looked over Balor's hooded shoulder at the wall plastered with Rebecca Lowell pictures and saw in a second where this creature's 'interest' in Rebecca was emanating from. 

'S'pleasure sir,' was all he could say.

__

'Yes, yes,' Balor released the lawyers' hand and turned to Holland. _'Holland, I don't mean to sound suspicious or anything but I can't help but notice that the sewer access I used to leave the building has been sealed off.' _

'Yes my Lord.'

Balor sounded more puzzled than angry. '_You really want to die that badly?'_

'Not at all, it's just a matter of security. You see we've had people enter the building through the sewers before and that proved to be rather costly.'

The Formorii whined like a spoilt child and actually stamped its foot. '_But I want to go outttttttt.'_

'And you can my lord, soon. Your people are arriving this afternoon.'

__

'Today? They'll be here today?'

'Absolutely, by lunchtime in fact.'

__

'But what about my queen?'

Holland put his arm around Lindsey's shoulders. 'That is where this capable young man comes in. Mr. MacDonald will deliver Miss. Lowell as per our original arrangement. In fact he's staked his life on it.'

'I have?'

'Oh yes,' Holland kept his arm around Lindsey and escorted him back to the lift. 'You just make yourself comfortable my Lord, we'll send some more fish down soon,' he called over his shoulder.

The cheerful smile didn't leave Holland's face until the lift doors had closed and they started to ascend. 'Jesus,' he let out a deep breath and leaned against the elevator wall. 'It's like dealing with an eight year old.'

Lindsey gaped at his boss. 'We're giving Rebecca Lowell to _that?_'

'Hm? Oh yes, don't ask me why but he's insisting on it. He and his kind are coming to LA. It's sad really, when you see what they've been reduced to. The legends speak of terrible mages thirsting for power who plundered the countryside, but they're really just a load of genetic throwbacks. It's all down to inbreeding, most of them were destroyed during their final battle and the few survivors…well lets just say they don't believe in watering down the bloodlines. That's actually Balor's son, the first one had his eye knocked through the back of his skull. They arrived in New York several months ago. They'd gotten bored of Ireland, and just to give you an idea of what the rest are like, Balor JR is the mature one. They'd been living under the Brooklyn Bridge and one-day Balor finds a TV guide floating on the water and it has a picture of Miss. Lowell on the cover. Next thing you know he's hiked his away across country and we're having to provide safe passage for all the other Fomorii.'

'He's dragging his people 3,000 miles across land so he can be with a _soap actress?'_

'Insane isn't it. But, he's an old friend of one of the senior partners so…' Holland threw up his hands in a _that's that_ gesture.

'And you want me to deliver her?'

'There isn't a problem is there?'

'No.'

'Good.' Holland handed Lindsey the folder he'd been carrying under his arm. 'Because there isn't a great deal of time, his people are getting here two days ahead of schedule and even though the Fomorii don't exactly fit the image of pure-blood demons they do have a great deal of magical power, they're just not very bright. I need Miss. Lowell's signature on the forms in that folder and then she needs to drink this,' Holland handed Lindsey a small phial of yellow powder he'd had in his jacket pocket. 'Trust me, it's for the best, and it'll make her wedding night go a lot more smoothly.'

Angel had spent the whole night roaming the streets looking for Balor, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do if he came across the demon. He just had to hope he'd find the thing while its back was turned. By sunrise he had prevented several muggings, saved someone from a drive-by shooting and managed to push a drunk out of the way of a moving car. There was no sign of Balor and no immolated bodies.

He arrived back at Wesley's flat to find Gunn lounging on the inflatable chair. 'Man I got to get me one of these,' he said with a grin.

A rather grumpy looking Wesley emerged from the kitchenn. Cordelia had requisitioned his bed and the inflatable chair had been a poor substitute. 'Oh you're back. Any luck?'

Angel shook his head. 'Any more visions from Cordelia?'

'None, she's still sleeping, but Charles thinks he might have something.'

Gunn scowled. 'Hey it's Gunn, all right! Only person calls me 'Charles' is my great-aunt Stacey.'

'Sorry, sorry. 'Gunn' thinks he has something on your compatriot.'

'He is not my 'compatriot.'

'He's Irish.'

'He is _not_ my compatriot.' 

'Hey!' said Gunn impatiently. 'You want to hear this or what?'

The shill whistle of a boiling kettle came from the kitchen and Wesley scurried off, Gunn watched him go with a bemused expression and then looked at Angel. 'You're looking for some dude who's been frying people with his eyes?'

'Eye, he only has one.'

'Aint that super, he's storing fish.'

'What?'

'Well I think its him, several buildings that have been on the market for years suddenly got taken up in one week and been filled with fish in refrigerated trucks. Plenty of people who'd been using them warehouses got turfed out by a load of hired goons who were handing out broken legs and kidney punches.'

'So? Could just be a supplier who needs extra space.'

'Yeah, 'cept the word's going round that there's a consignment of bumpkin Eurotrash heading this way. They've been sleazing around New York for months and now they're heading for sunnier climes. This Balor cracker is a sea demon right?'

'Yes.'

'Well he's leading his people to the Promised Waterfront and every other demon in that area is clearing out so I don't think this crew are likely to be good neighbours.'

Angel didn't look concerned. 'Now I wonder _who_ could conduct these property transactions for them…'

Wesley returned with a loaded tea tray and set it on the table. 'Shall I be mother?' he asked and started to pour out four cups. 

Cordelia staggered out of the bedroom. She'd clearly had another vision. 'God, three in under a day. Aren't there any other seers in LA the PTB can bug?'

She flopped onto the inflatable chair, bounced off it, and landed on the floor. She glared at Wesley as he apologetically handed her a cup of tea. 

Angel knelt down to face her. 'Balor?'

She shook her head. 'No, this was just a common head-splitter, drool only, no blacking out. What the hell's with this Balor creep anyway? He shows up in my head and I black out, not exactly useful if you need to ride to the rescue and I'm off in lala land.'

'What did you see?'

Incredibly she smiled. 'You sure you want this one, cause personally I reckon it's going to save us a lot of trouble.'

'What?'

'Rebecca Lowell. Pretty tame vision by the PTB's usual standards, it was just her at home having a nice drink with Lindsey MacDonald. He had some papers for her to sign.'

Angel looked at up at the window. The curtains were still drawn but through them he could see the rays of another gloriously sunny LA day.

At Wolfram & Hart, twelve young men and women nervously crowded into an elevator. Over the last few weeks they'd all started temping in the accounts department and each had worked hard to land a full-time contract, W&H was a good name to have on your CV. Then the call came through; the head of the special projects division wanted to see them. Special projects, they asked each other, why? Because there are full-time vacancies in that department, came the reply.

So after some quick checking of breath/body odour/make-up and slightly increasing the exposure of cleavage where appropriate, they all got into the lift and someone pressed 'up.' There was some momentary confusion when the elevator started to descend and then there was panic when the gas started to flow in through the roof.

****

Wesley was confronting the most infuriating authority figure ever devised: the security man on the front gate. 'I'm telling you it's vitally important I speak to Ms. Lowell.'

'An I'm tellin you _old chap_ that she ain't here. _What What!' _Sneered the guard in an accent that was about as english as Mount Rushmore**. **'She went out and I dunno when she's comin back. Got it? And I don't care who you are, if y'name's not down y'not comin' in!'

Wesley gave up, fished a business card from his wallet and handed it through the bars of the gate. 'Well if you could let her know I called and tell her to ring me.'

The guard looked at the card and then slowly tore it in two and stomped off up the driveway. Wesley glared at the W&H security logo on the back of his sweat drenched 'one-size is too small for all' shirt**. **

'Well, that was constructive,' he said to himself and then got out his mobile. On the third ring Cordelia, who had spent the last half-hour sitting on a park bench directly opposite the Wolfram & Hart building, answered. 'Anything?' She asked.

'What do you think, the place is suddenly swamped with Wolfram & Hart rent-a-thugs. Even if she were here I'd never get near her.'

'Well, Angel couldn't go, seeing as there isn't a lot of shade in the grounds surrounding the place and Gunn…well, black ghetto youth shows up in a rich part of town he'd be arrested and strip searched before you could say 'can't we all just get along?' 

'I suppose. Anything from them?'

'Last I heard they were still checking out those warehouses. That's more Angel's deal, lots of dark and sleazy alleyways…oh, hold on.'

'What? What?'

'I said hold on doofus. It's Oliver Simon,' she said. 'And he's pissed.' 

Lindsey, who had been alerted to Oliver's presence and had given strict instructions to security to let him pass without incident, gave the agent a pleasant smile as Oliver burst into his office. 'Mr. Simon. Can we make this brief, I have a 2 o'clock.'

'What the hell is this?' Snarled Oliver and he threw a crumpled fax letter on Lindsey's desk.

Lindsey picked it up and looked it over. 'Seems straightforward enough to me. Ms. Lowell has given Wolfram & Hart the power of attorney over her assets and business affairs. She wanted to let you know personally.'

'_Personally!_ By fax! Where is she?'

'Don't know. I went round to her home this morning so she could sign the necessary forms and then she went for a drive. Have you tried her mobile?'

'This is outrageous, I hired you to conduct a lawsuit and you pull a stroke like this! _You're fired!_ Beccy is a disturbed young woman who needs protecting not exploiting, I told you the state she was in and you've taken advantage.'

'Now that is a very serious accusation Mr. Simon, do you have documentary evidence of this phantom 'condition?' Any psychiatric reports? Any witnesses to testify to her unbalanced behaviour?'

__

'Of course not, because she hasn't been out of the house in months!!! She's been living off a diet of vodka and valium, she hasn't worked for over a year.'

'And why is that, hm? She's a beautiful and once successful television actress who hasn't worked for so long and you're her agent Mr. Simon, maybe she's turned to Wolfram & Hart because you're no longer doing your job. You're suing someone for causing her a loss of earnings and asking for five million dollars yet you admitted to her that the real figure was closer to nine hundred thousand. That's hardly an ethical practice.'

'What? You can't use that against me, I hired you.'

'And you just fired me and you never told me you'd grossly exaggerated the figures, you told her and she's willing to use it if you make waves.' 

'But, but…' Oliver was completely cornered and he knew it. 'But to hand over total control of her affairs…'

'Her choice, her 'sane' choice less you can prove otherwise. All we need now from you, Mr. Simon, is her contract and that'll make it nice and neat.'

'Her contract? For how much?'

'The goodness of your heart?'

'I want a million.'

Lindsey snorted. 'Now even if she were working full time we wouldn't be paying out that much.'

Oliver squared his shoulders and struck a defiant pose. 'Then you'll have to come and get it and I don't care what you say, it's hardly in her interest to have this whole mess splashed over the tabloids, in Hollywood an accusation has the status of proof.'

He turned to make a dramatic exit but was brought to a halt when Lindsey murmured the word 'Peter.' He spun round 'What did you say?'

Lindsey reached down into a desk draw and threw pile of black and white photographs onto his desk. Ashen faced, Oliver walked over and gaped at the pornographic images on display.

Lindsey'ssmile faded. 'I said 'Peter' Mr. Simon, I believe he's a landscape architect who you have been involved with for the last seven years. Our information might be a bit off but as I understood it Peter is actually a couple of years older than you.' He glanced at one of the photographs. 'Either that young man in there with you is not Peter or that's one hell of a face lift he's had.'

Oliver couldn't speak, the photos were of him and the man who had given him Wolfram & Hart's phone number.

Lindsey stood up and walked round his desk to escort Oliver out of his office. 'We'll be in touch Mr. Simon. Now if you'll excuse me I really do have to make my 2 o'clock.' 

The twelve men and women who had been temping in accounts at Wolfram & Hart were slowly recovering from the effects of the gas. They had woken up and found themselves bound and gagged in a warehouse and sitting up against twenty kegs of beer that had been positioned by the rear end of three large articulated lorries. There were noises coming from inside the trailers and several minutes of struggling and tears provided the temps with the knowledge that they were _very securely_ bound and gagged. 

A hooded figure shuffled into sight from between the centre lorry and the one on the left. '_Thank you Holland,' _it rasped. 

Angel and Gunn crept down a nice shady alleyway by the side of a warehouse. The vampire climbed onto a dumpster and looked in through a broken window. 'Three lorries,' he whispered to Gunn.

'Anyone there?'

'Not sure, think there's someone moving in-between the trucks.'

Balor knelt down and stroked the chin of one of the temps. The woman squealed and tried to wriggle away. _'Now, now, don't be such a tease,_' the Fomorii said reprovingly. He got up and started to unlock the centre trailer, the noise intensified until he thumped on the door. '_Calm down, everyone is to stay where they are till everyone can get out. UNDERSTOOD?' _The noise died down and he started on the left trailer.

The window frame was rotten and Angel was able to pull it pull it out with no trouble. 'Go round the front,' he hissed to Gunn.

'Are you nuts? This thing kills you with a look!'

Angel was already climbing in. 'So I'll tear its head off before it looks at me.'

Balor unlocked the final trailer and then turned to address his captives. _'I have to tell you, I really can't thank your firm enough for all it's done.'_

Quickly and silently, Angel sprinted across the warehouse floor towards the nearest truck and rolled under it and the centre one. Then he sprang up and lunged for the figure he'd seen lurking around the vehicles and wrestled it to the ground. 

It wasn't Balor. 

'Hey!' yelled the man as Angel twisted his arm behind his back and pressed his face against the damp concrete floor. 'What the fuck are you doing?' Angel let him go and then took a cautious step back as the human staggered to his feet. 'Where's Balor?' He demanded.

The man stared at him. 'Who the hell's Balor? Who the hell are _you?'_

Angel bluffed it out. 'Status Security, we've had reports of people breaking into these warehouses so I'll ask the questions. Where's Balor?'

'I don't know anyone called Balor,' the man exploded. 'An I gotta perfect right to be here, I'm renting this place till my new cold store is ready.'

'Cold store?' Angel followed the man's gaze as the human looked up at the side of one the trucks, written on the side, next to a large picture of a rather cheerful looking cartoon squid, was _Jackson's Fresh Fish_.

Gunn came running up and stopped as he saw the side of the truck. He looked at the owner and then to Angel and shrugged. 'Oops,' was all he could say.

In a completely different warehouse, one that was no where near the docks, Balor shuffled over to the temps and gently picked up the woman whose chin he'd stroked and carried her away from the trucks. '_You're going to be my special treat,' _he whispered to her as he set her down. He stood and yelled out '_Right lads, let's get this Stag Do going._

The captives screamed through their gags as the trailer doors on all three trucks burst open and halfway across town, opposite the Wolfram & Hart building, Cordelia Chase's mind exploded.

'Hey look, how was I supposed to know?' Said Gunn as Angel paced back and forth in the alleyway by the side of the warehouse. 'I hear you're looking for some seadude and there's a warehouse that's been emptied of bums and filled with fish.'

The vampire stopped and glared at him. 'Maybe it's full of fish because it's being used by a fishmonger who needs extra space, _like I said.' _

Gunn had had enough. 'Fine, you go swooping across the night sky doing your batboy thing looking for your pal from the motherland. I got more important things to be doing, call me if you think he's on my patch.' And with that he stormed off. 

Angel let him go without further comment and then got out his mobile and called Wesley. 'Meet me atCaritas,' he said brusquely.

'Angel?' The watcher sounded worried. 'Have you heard from Cordelia?'

'She's not with you?'

'No, last I heard from her she was watching Oliver Simon storming into Wolfram & Hart.'

The darkness slowly drifted away to be replaced by excruciating pain. Cordelia opened her eyes and sat bolt upright, her head swimming with images of a dozen men and women being, being…_violated_ by Balor and dozens of deformed scaly fish - like creatures. 'Jesus,' she fell off the sofa and vomited noisily on the floor.

After a few seconds something kicked her brain…_sofa?_

She groggily looked around at the office she was in. 'Oh god,' she whispered.

The door opened and Lindsey MacDonald, flanked by two beefy security guards, came in. 'How are you feeling?' He said and then looked at the mess by the sofa. 'Ah well, I'm sure we can clean that up. I guess you got a glimpse of Balor's bachelor party and it must have been a bit much for you. When you collapsed some kind souls brought you in here and asked if we could call an ambulance.'

An image of a woman who couldn't have been much older that Cordelia and had probably once been quite pretty flashed before her eyes. She saw some hooded creature writhing on top of the poor girl and she had to fight down the urge to throw up again. 'Bachelor party,' she gasped.

'Hm, well he calls it a Stag Do. Quaint isn't it.' Lindsey pointed at another door in the corner of the room. 'If you have a look in there you'll find a bathroom, I guess you could probably do with a wash. If you feel up to eating something before the ceremony then feel free to call down to reception - the phone in this room will only connect to reception of course.'

Her mind was still in that warehouse. 'Uh, uh ceremony?'

'The wedding, can't have a bachelor party without a wedding now can you. Our friend from across the seas is going to be marrying Ms. Lowell tonight and she's going to need a bridesmaid…'

****

Part IV

__

Anagogic Host: (singing) "First I was afraid. I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side. But then I spent so many nights thinking how you done me wrong, and I grew strong. And I learned how to get along." (speaking) "Oh, you know what I'm talking about. In this city you better learn to get along. Because LA's got it all: The glamour and the grit, the big breaks and the heartaches, the sweet young lovers and the nasty, ugly, hairy fiends that suck out your brain through your face. It's all part of the big wacky variety show we call - Los Angeles. You never know what's coming next. And lets admit it folks: Isn't that why we love it? (Starts to sing again) I'll survive. I will survive! Hey, hey!" 

(Judgement: act I)

If anyone had been there to see the Host as he looked around the cleaned up Caritas they might have thought he was glowing with pride. Of course that was assuming that 'they' were aware of the existence of demons, otherwise they might have complimented him on his funky costume or screamed and called for the police. However, if 'they' were a regular they would have said he was positively glowing. The handkerchief tied around his head and the bloodstained apron might have clashed a bit with his usual attire, but he was definitely glowing.

'Sweet,' he said to himself and picked up his mop and bucket. That was the great thing about being a demon, you had the ability to take pretty much anything in your stride. A couple of days back virtually the entire bar had been slaughtered by some crazed killer with a penchant for twee-Irish folk songs and now people where clamouring to be let back in and get drinking. Not the humans of course, there had been a few members of the dominant species caught up in the massacre and those that knew of the bar needed a bit longer to get over that level of violence. Demons and vampires**, **on the other hand, hell they thrived on it! It made unlife worth living.

He stuck the mop in the bucket and leant it against the bar and then picked up a dustpan that contained the earthly remains of several vampires. He turned round and promptly threw the pan into the air when he saw Angel and Wesley. 'Jesus,' he choked, as a cloud of the living dead enveloped him. 'You really get your rocks off doing that don't you.'

'I need you to watch me sing,' said Angel.

'News flash cutie, we're closed. Grand re-opening on Friday night, thirty dollars on the door and as much as you can drink for the rest of the evening.'

'You don't usually charge.'

'Yeah, well Madam Dorian is going to take a chisel to my gonads if I don't starting reimbursing her for the dancers your Fomorii barbecued.'

Angel walked over to the stage and grabbed the microphone. _'My Fomorii_ is out there somewhere and I don't know where, so plug in the machine and I can leave you be.'

The Host sighed and sat down on a stool. 'Hey,' he said to Wesley. 'You know how to make a Seabreeze?'

'No.'

'Well there's a cocktail menu by the till, make yourself useful.' 

Cordelia had used the bathroom to clean herself up as best she could and then started pacing the office. Soiled, that was the word, she felt _soiled._ A quick wash wasn't enough; after what she had seen Balor doing in her head she felt the need to soak herself in disinfectant. 

'Helloooo Cordy.'

She turned and saw Rebecca Lowell standing in the doorway; the woman was wearing the most exquisite wedding dress. Cordelia's mouth went dry. Aside from the obvious value of the gown it was the kind of elaborate and silky design she'd always dreamed of having as a girl. Quite simply it was the sort of dress you'd want to marry, never mind who was wearing it.

'Rebecca?'

'Isn't it lovely,' trilled Rebecca and she did a slow twirl to show off the garment. 'Lilah Morgan chose it for me. When I was a little girl I always wanted to get married in a dress like this.'

She gave Cordelia a vacant wide-eyed stare. Being the most popular girl in school, Cordelia had had plenty of opportunities to experiment with drugs. After her one and only taste of cannabis at a party she personally had never bothered with any kind of illicit substances again, but she'd known people who had and those who knew how to get it. Whatever Rebecca Lowell was obviously on had to be primo stuff. Her urine probably had a street value of fifty thousand dollars. 

The actress wandered over to her and stroked Cordelia's face. _'You-are-so-beautiful,'_ she said emphatically and then giggled. 'Everyone is _soooooo_ beautiful.'

'Uh-huh, look Rebecca…'

'I'm so happy you're going to be my bridesmaid, Cordelia, I couldn't believe it when Lindsey told me you'd said yes, it means so much to me on such a personal and deep level. Really.' 

'Okay. Do you know who you're marrying?'

'He's nobility,' Rebecca whispered in a conspiratorial tone. 'I'm going to marry into European royalty, it's what I always dreamed of. I'm going to be a real princess.'

'Yeessss. But he's homicidal multiple-rapist demonic fish-man royalty and I don't think you can put that all down to in-breeding.' 

'But I love him,' Rebecca sighed.

'Have you ever met him?'

'I don't need to, he's travelled six thousand miles to be with me. Isn't that commitment enough? Lindsey assures me the other women will be over when we're married.'

'Oh, god.'

Rebecca clapped her hands and gave another giddy laugh. 'And don't think you're not going to be lovely too, we got you a bridesmaid dress as well.'

__

'Little things I should have said and done, I just never took the time. You were always on my mind, you were always…'

'Stop, stop,' cried the Host and he downed his Seabreeze in one gulp and then lunged over the bar and past Wesley to grab the nearest bottle. 'Mass murder and rape I can deal with but don't involve The King in this,' he wheezed and took a look swig from a bottle of Beefeater Gin.

Angel put the microphone back in its stand and got off the stage. 'Uh, actually I was trying for the Pet Shop Boys. Thought I'd go for something a bit more modern.'

The Host slammed the bottle on the bar and rubbed his eyes. 'Yeah, well when they rebuild the Berlin Wall and put Mr. Gorbachev back in the Kremlin you can make claims to having a modern repertoire. I'd stick to Mr. Manilow if I were you. God, ugh.' 

The demon was obviously in great pain. 'What did you see?' Asked Wesley.

'Enough to know I didn't need to hear him anymore, and that's without his singing voice. Your boy Balor is here to get married and he's been having himself a wild old bachelor party.'

Angel frowned. 'Married? That's not the usual demonic reason. Where's the ancient gem to usher in the end of days or the ritual at the right moment of cosmic alignment to open a gateway to Hell?'

'Dunno, all I know is he's getting hitched and soon to your favourite soap star.'

'Soap… Rebecca! That's why Cordelia saw her in a vision with Lindsey MacDonald. Wesley, call your apartment, maybe Cordy went there.'

Wesley used his mobile. 'She's not picking up,' he said after a few rings.

Angel grabbed the Host. 'Where did you see Balor?'

'I dunno, a warehouse. Some trucks there and some kids from Wolfram & Hart who died a pretty 'YUCK' death.'

'Wolfram & Hart,' said Wesley, 'Why were they there?'

'Wolfram & Hart weren't there, it was just some kids who were temping at W&H and were taken on to provide Balor with some amusement,' snapped the Host. 'These Fomorii are fully paid-up subscribers to the pleasure principle.'

Angel and Wesley stared at each other. The Watcher spoke first. 'When Cordelia's seen Balor she's blacked out from the pain.'

'Was she still outside Wolfram & Hart's offices?'

'Last I heard.'

'And if she passed out…'

'Maybe someone carried her off the street…oh my god.'

Angel looked at the Host. 'Did you see Cordelia?'

'Honey, if I saw anymore I think my head would have burst. Your countrymen are stupid and dangerous, big magic and big evil controlled by small brains, but no, no Cordelia just those other kids and I hope to god they're dead by now.'

Wesley glared at the demon. 'Just because they worked for Wolfram & Hart on a temporary basis doesn't mean they deserve to die.'

The Host glared back. 'If any of them are still alive after what I saw them going through then a bullet in the head would be the kindest thing anyone could ever do for them. _All right!'_

Angel held up his hands for calm. 'Okay, okay. Wesley, stay here and wait for my call. Ring your apartment every ten minutes to see if Cordy's there.'

Wesley watched the vampire run out. 'And where are you going?'

'Guess.'

****

Angel was hiding in a clump of bushes near the Wolfram & Hart building and feeling a lot of a fool. If in doubt head to W&H and then worry about what he was going to do. Cordelia had to be in there; after all there probably wasn't a safer location anywhere in the city if you wanted to hide someone from a vampire. Question was, where was she in the building? He couldn't just charge is as per usual and start throwing his weight around with her surrounded by god knew how many security guards.

Behind him a hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He turned faster than the human eye could follow and had the man by the throat and pinned against a tree before he saw who it was.

'Mr. Simon?'

The agent let out a choking noise and flailed around madly as he tired, quite ineffectually, to knock Angel away. 'Hhhgggghnnnnn.'

sorry,' Angel let Oliver go and the agent sagged to his knees. 'W-what,' he wheezed as he sucked in a lungful of air. 'Are you doing here?'

'Looking for a friend of mine, and Rebecca Lowell.'

At the mention of Rebecca's name, Oliver reared up and hit Angel as hard as he could. 'Ow,' he shrieked and sucked his knuckles. 'What is your chin made of, granite?'

__

I don't have time for this, the vampire thought. 'Look, Mr. Simon, I can understand why you wouldn't trust me but I'm really not out to harm Rebecca, she's in far more danger from Wolfram & Hart than from me.'

'I know that,' the agent snapped. 'She tried to lay you out with some doximol didn't she?'

'Yes, I…how did you know that, she told you?'

'Noooo, but I saw the signs, the way she looked at you and it's one of her tricks if she feels it's not going exactly the way she wants it to. Rebecca Lowell is used to getting what she wants and that includes men, she's a predator. There isn't a straight stunt man under the age of 22 in this town she hasn't jumped.'

'Even if they're drugged,' said Angel flatly.

'Well where's the harm? You've seen her, she's rich, famous and beautiful, she hardly ever needs the doximol, most men leap at the opportunity. Occasionally you get the odd married one with scruples but they're few and far between.' He gave Angel an apologetic grin. 'Obviously you had some kind of allergic reaction to it.'

'You're her dealer.'

'_Supplier!_ I do not deal, it's a friendly service for my most valued clients, free of charge!'

'Meaning you cream some off their profits.'

'Only to cover expenses.'

Angel snorted. 'I'm really not interested Mr. Simon. I'm here for my friend, she's being held by Wolfram & Hart and you are wasting my time,' and with that he turned and stalked off.

'Wait, wait,' cried Oliver and ran after him. 'You said you were here for Rebecca as well.'

'I've changed my mind, you and she deserve Wolfram & Hart.'

'But they've done something to her as well, she sacked me this afternoon and I'm sure they're keeping her prisoner.'

Angel didn't even look round. 'Right, such a high principled gal would never turn on her own agent, and in Hollywood of all places!'

'Please, I…I'll drop the lawsuit.'

The vampire span round and started to walk toward Oliver, who promptly began back stepping until he bumped into a tree. 'You are going to drop the lawsuit anyway Mr. Simon,' said Angel and he jabbed the agent in the centre of his pigeon chest. 'You've just told me you supply drugs to Rebecca and other select clients and you also admitted that she fed them to me in order to take advantage.'

'You, you can't prove that…_OH SWEET JESUS CHRIST,' _he screamed as Angel revealed his true face.

Angel gave him a toothy smile. 'That's right Ollie, it's all-true. Now, you will drop the lawsuit and in return I'll save Rebecca.'

The human looked one step away from a stroke. 'You're a vampire,' he squeaked.

Angel was surprised. 'You really didn't know, did you,' he resumed his human visage. 'Okay calm down,' he said and tried to give the human a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 'Shut up,' he hissed and clamped a hand over Oliver's mouth when the man screamed. 'Do want them hear you on the top floor? Now look Oliver, I am not what you think, okay? I don't kill humans, well not anymore, and I will help you find Rebecca. Now I'm gonna take my hand away, okay?' He slowly pulled his hand back.

Oliver gaped at him. 'You're not going to hurt me?' he whispered.

'No.'

'And you'll help Beccy?'

'Yes. For a price.'

'What?' The mention of money did more to drive away Oliver's fear than the revelation that vampires actually existed. 

'That's right, I'm an investigator and when necessary I help those who can't help themselves, free of charge if needs be but you and Rebecca certainly don't qualify on either count. You might not be the sort of evil I usually fight but you are both definitely immoral, corrupt and deceitful and that means I'm going to screw you over big time.'

Before Oliver could protest, a whirring sound overhead caused them both to look up.

Flanked by two security guards, Cordelia watched the helicopter land on the roof of the Wolfram & Hart building. Her heart sank: at least if they were travelling by road Angel might have been able to intercept them. Assuming he even knew she was in trouble.

'I don't think our local superhero can fly,' said Lindsey, practically reading her mind. He looked over at Rebecca, who was still mentally orbiting Jupiter. 'Ms. Lowell, your carriage awaits.'

She gave him a vacant stare and then focused on the chopper. 'Oooh,' she squealed like a child and clapped her hands. 'Lindssssseeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyy.'

'All part of the service. Yes, yes, thank you,' he grumbled as she threw her arms around him and blubbed happy tears all over the shoulder of his $1000 suit. 'Phil!'

The bald guard grabbed hold of the actress and dragged her toward the chopper. 'Thank you Lindsey, thank you.'

He gave her a friendly wave and then turned to Cordelia. 'Ms. Chase.'

Cordelia's expression could have burnt a hole in a sheet of tungsten. 'Fuck you.' 

'Very kind but we're a little pushed for time here, besides I wouldn't want to get anything on that lovely dress. I'm not Bill Clinton.' 

Cordelia looked down at the beautiful gown she'd been forced into at gunpoint. It probably cost more than Angel's car and was the sort of thing she'd have been delighted to wear under normal circumstances. Of course normal circumstances in her life had been on hold since Buffy Summers rolled into Sunnydale High.

'What the hell is it with you?' she snarled. 'Didn't think you were getting enough evil in your daily diet and decided to throw your hand into the soul transaction?'

Lindsey gestured to the other guard who promptly rabbit-punched her and caught her before she hit the ground.

'Probably for the best,' he said as the anonymous thug slung the unconscious seer over his shoulder and carried her to the helicopter. 'Five minutes in her company and even the Pope would slug her.'

Phil came over. 'All set Mr. MacDonald.'

'That's terrific Phil, now the pilot knows where he's going. When he sets down my advice to you is open the doors, leave the young lovelies, and get the hell back into the air ASAP. You don't want to be around when Balor comes to meet his bride.'

Lindsey turned to leave and then froze when he heard the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked. 'Phil?'

'Thanks for your advice Mr. MacDonald, we'll be sure to do just that.'

'What the hell is this Phil?'

'Fraid you're coming with us Mr. MacDonald. Mr. Manner's orders.'

'_What?'_

'Nothing personal he says, he's simply fulfilling the request of a client.'

'What damn request?'

'Ms. Lowell. She asked Mr. Manners if you could be the one to give her away.'

Wesley sat on the bar of Caritas and watched the Host perform his way through a medley of Gloria Estefan numbers. 'Very nice.'

__

'Nice,' the demon sneered. 'Nice! Sweetheart, when I am in the zone, as I was just then and giving my all, as you should have seen me doing in my homage to the Puerto Rican diva, the word 'nice' just don't cut the Coleman's English Mustard. Dig?' 

'Dig. Er, yes, I mean yes. You were absolutely smashing.'

'May I have another Seabreeze?'

'What? Oh yes, of course.'

__

Smashing mouthed the Host silently as Wesley set about fixing another cocktail. What a peasant. No wonder his kind had lost control of the damn country, they had no appreciation of what made a rocking tune, or guerilla warfare according to the more blinkered historians.

Oblivious to the demon's disdain, Wesley twittered on about music in order to take his mind off the fact that Cordelia might be in real danger and the only thing Angel thought he could safely do was play bartender to a soul-reader with a drink problem. 'I've always thought that a few Queen numbers might go down well with your regulars. Funny really, I never paid much attention to them till Freddie Mercury snuffed it then I jumped right on the appreciation bandwagon. Course, there wasn't much choice in the matter, all the bloody radio stations were playing Queen round the clock in tribute. '_I see a little silhouette of a man, scaramouche, scaramouche can you do the fandango,' _he trilled. He finished making the drink and looked at the Host. 'What do you think? A bit of Queen every now and…you all right?'

The Host was staring at him, unable to speak.

'What is it? Oh god, the singing, what did you see?'

Before the Host could say anything their attentions were drawn by a colossal drunken roar coming from outside, coming from just outside in fact.

Wesley looked at the demon. 'Hide?'

'Let's.'

Before either could move, the door flew off its hinges and dozens of deformed scaly creatures tumbled in and knocked over every table and chair in their path.

Wesley and the Host were horrified to see three of the obscene creatures' charge in holding another of their kind aloft. 

The one who was being carried had its face concealed by a hood, Wesley looked at the Host for confirmation and got it immediately. The Host was utterly transfixed on the hooded one (who had been place on a table and was spinning around like a drunk-great uncle who was attempting 'groovy' dancing at a wedding reception). The Anagogic Demon was sweating rivers of green**. **

One of the Fomorii lurched over to Wesley and threw an arm around him. 'Yer the owna?' he slurred in a thick Irish accent.

Wesley shook his head and pointed at the Host. The Fomorii looked at the Anagogic and then at the Seabreeze Wesley was still holding. 'BARMAN,' he yelled happily and snatched the drink out Wesley's hand and downed it in one go. 'Rack em up,' he lisped and picked the ex-watcher up and threw him behind the bar. 'Oi, landlord,' he yelled at the Host. 'This here's Balor,' he said and pointed at his table-dancing lord. 'Last true King o'Oiland. An' he's getting bloody spliced ina houraso,' he roared at the other Fomorii, who gave a jolly roar back. 'An' he sez this dump is a top craic, so yez can hold the ceremony an' d'fukking reception!'

****

Part V 

__

Host: "My question first. And answer true, because you know I'll know. Why Mandy?"   
Angel: "Well, I-I know the words - (leans in closer) - I kind of think it's pretty."   
Host smiling: "And it is, you great, big sap! There is not a destroyer of worlds that can argue with Manilow and good for you for fessin' up. 

(Judgement: Act IV)

'_Wheeeeeeeeeennnnnn you go, will yer send backkkkkkk aaaaa letterrrr frommmmmmmmmmmm Ammmmeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrriiiiicccccccccca…'_

They'd been at it from the moment they swarmed in. Wesley did his best to block out the noise but the Fomorii, to a demon it seemed, had voices that could fracture granite.

__

'Taaaakkkkkeeeeeee a loooooooookkkkkk down the railtrack, from Miami to Caaaaannnnnaaaaaaddaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…'

They were working their way through every track on the karaoke that had a celtic flavour to it. First a few choice items off the Pogues '_Rum, Sodomy & the Lash'_ and now they were on to the Proclaimers.

__

'Awib da wim bah way, awib da wim bah way…'

An ashtray bounced off the back of his head, he turned and stared in to the face of a red-eyed Formorii. 'Drink,' the creature gurgled and it pounded its fist on the bar.

'Of course sir,' Wesley was doing his best gentlemen's gentleman act. 'Any particular variety?'

'Drink!'

Wesley handed the demon the nearest bottle and winced as it bit the top off and downed the contents, broken glass and all.

He looked over at the Host. The Anagogic Demon was sitting idly on a stool and nursing a Seabreeze. Other than the occasional wince as he heard another chair being broken there was no indication he was paying the rest of the world any attention.

The hooded demon the others referred to as Balor was still whirling around on the dancefloor while other Fomorii stood on the side lines cheering. One of the demons drunkenly stumbled over to Balor and threw an arm round his shoulder. 'I really love you milord,' he slurred. 'You're my best mate, here,' and he pushed Balor away and held up his fists in a fighting stance. 'Lez have a fight then go for a curry.' 

__

'All right.' 

The Host suddenly became alive and vaulted over the bar, knocking Wesley over as he did so. As they cowered on the ground they heard the other Formorii shriek in agony then the appreciative roar of the mob was quickly followed by the worryingly pleasant smell of scorched flesh.

The two captives slowly peeked over the bar to see several Formorii kneeling around what had once been one of their own.

Balor lowered his hood. _'Can't stand curry, who's for barbecue?'_

Lindsey MacDonald stared out over the brightly-lit LA nightline. Under normal circumstances he would have marvelled at the view, as it was he was simply looking out of the chopper window to avoid meeting Cordelia's eye.

The seer had come to shortly after take off and then begun to snort with laughter when the doped-up Rebecca had told her Lindsey as going to be giving her away. She didn't stop laughing until Phil threatened her with the gun but Lindsey could still see the mocking amusement in her eyes, taking some small comfort from the fact that he was going to be there right along side her when they were handed over to the Fomorii.

Angel had driven through four red lights trying to keep track of the helicopter and was now being followed by three police cars whose occupants were very anxious to talk to him.

'For God's sake,' squealed Oliver, who was sitting white knuckled in the front passenger seat. 'You'll get us killed!'

'You might get killed, I've been dead since the 1750's.' The vampire threw the agent his mobile phone. 'Here, go to the address book and look up the number next to 'WWP.'

Wesley almost suffered a stroke when his phone rang. Fortunately, there was a gang of seven Fomorii on stage singing an obscene version of the 'Mull of Kintyre' and no one heard the electronic jingle.

He crouched behind the bar while the Host charged up and down hurling bottles at any demon that looked thirsty. 'Hello?'

__

'Hello? Is that Wesley?'

'Yes? Who's this?'

__

'Er, you don't know me - **_WATCH OUT FOR THAT BUS FOR CHRISSAKES_ - **_I'm here with Angel and he wants to know where you are.'_

Wesley heard a fight break out on the stage as the singing demons began scrapping over who got to hold the microphone. 'Tell him I'm at Caritas and so is Balor,' he hissed and then turned his phone off.

'Caritas, he said Balor is at Caritas?' Demanded Angel as he took a corner at such speed the right side of the car momentarily left the ground.

'Yes,' screamed Oliver, who had shut his eyes to block out the images of speeding cars that were swerving out of the way now that Angel had taken to driving on the wrong side of the road.

'Good, then that's were that helicopter is going.'

'You don't even know Beccy is on it.'

'Well I guess she'll pay for that with her life if I'm wrong.' Angel looked into the rear view mirror; the three police cars had found a couple of friends to help them. 'We really don't need this, take off your belt.'

'What!'

'Just do it.'

Oliver removed his belt and then screamed as Angel drove the car toward the kerb and then broke sharply. When the car screamed to a halt, the vampire snatched the belt and then leapt out of the car. 'I can get there faster on foot,' he yelled and disappeared down a nearby alleyway.

Oliver watched him go and them became rapidly aware of several pursuing police cars surrounding him and their passengers jumping out and aiming guns at him. 'Ah, er, good evening officer. What seems to be the trouble?'

Cordelia stared out of the window as the helicopter slowly descended on to a disused and vacant parking lot; they were close to Caritas. She looked over at Rebecca. The actress was snoring loudly and there was pretty thick string of drool hanging from her mouth. _I'd have given anything to live in her world,_ she thought ruefully; _I so do not miss being shallow. _She checked her reflection in the window. _God, I do look good in this dress though._

As the chopper landed, Phil and the other guard opened the doors and then made silent 'get out' motions with their guns. The bridesmaid and, for want of a better term, the 'father of the bride' glared at the guards and then at each other with extreme hatred and climbed out. The bride was shoved out of the chopper a few seconds later and hit the ground without even stirring.

Lindsey nd Cordelia dragged the unconscious actress to safety as the helicopter pilot followed Lindsey's advice to the letter and got the hell out of there ASAP. Cordelia yelled over the noisy takeoff. 'Any point in us running?'

'None whatsoever,' Lindsey replied. 

Several figures crept out of the shadows.

Aside from their numbers, Balor's obvious power, and the fact that he was surrounded by them of course, the Fomorii didn't strike Wesley as all that frightening for pureblood demons. He had seen and vanquished far more intimidating creatures and the Fomorii were simply a collection of mottled, scaly red-eyed humanoids with clawed webbed hands and who carried around with them the requisite fishy odour for sea-demons. Obviously dangerous**, **but in a very dull and unimaginative kind of way**: **were it not for Balor he doubted there was anyone of them that would be able to take him or the Host in a fight, let alone Angel.

And now Angel knew where they were. He knew that Wesley was their captive and was he was surely on his way to rescue his loyal employee. As he watched the group, who had just finished devouring the unfortunate who had challenged Balor to a fight, drunkenlystagger to their feet and begin a head-butting contest, Wesley started to relax. He poured himself a snifter of expensive cognac, making sure the Host wasn't looking, and was just beginning to pity the poor Irish demons when a melon - sized hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Other than making a little squeaking noise, Wesley did his hardest to ignore the crippling pain and to not betray the look of abject shock as he turned and looked up, and then up a bit further, into the face of an enormous cyclops.

The giant relaxed his grip and leant down to snarl at the human. 'Sure, youse ain't fukking paid to stand around drinking are yez?'

'no.' 

'Then gie us a large snowball.' 

'Yes sir.'

'_Searbhan!'_ Balor cried and then raced over from the dance floor, vaulted over the bar, shoved Wesley out of the way and flung his arms around the giant. '_You came!'_

'Like I'd miss y'big day,' rumbled the giant. 'Sure, y'da'd be proud o'yez.'

__

'You,' Balor snapped at Wesley and then gestured at Searbhan. _'Whatever he wants he gets,'_ the Fomorii lifted its hooded head and looked up at the cyclops. _'Can't have my best man going thirsty on my wedding night.'_

'HEY!' Cordelia yelled at the Fomorii that tried to push her down the steps to Caritas. 'Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk on these heels? And keep your slimy fins off the garb. _This _is a La Croix!'

'Y'know working for Wolfram & Hart, you think that you've become acquainted with pretty much every form of insidious black magic,' Lindsey said quietly, as he struggled down the stairs with the unconscious Rebecca slung over his shoulder. 'And yet for the life of me I can't conceive of a spell that could actually get you to _stop talking!'_

'Listen Captain Hook, we wouldn't even be attending Uncle Fester's bachelor party if it wasn't for your crummy firm.' 

'QUIET,' one of the Fomorii gargled.

The two conscious captives stumbled down the steps, occasionally pausing to shoot each other a venomous glare, and eventually wandered into a scene that would have given Hieronymous Bosch nightmares. 

Caritas was lost in a swirl of acrid black smoke as the liquor** - **fuelled fires on top of the tables blazed merrily away. The fires provided the only illumination, as most of the lights had been smashed. However, the karoke machine was working fine as, through their streaming eyes, Cordelia and Lindsey could see the misshapen Fomorii gyrating in the most offensive way imaginable.

'_It's just a step to the left…and then a step to the riiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhhttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!'_

'Put your hands on you hips….'

'Oh dear god,' whispered Cordelia. 'They're 'Time Warping.' Now I know they've been living under the sea for thousands of years.' 

'Cordelia?'

She looked over and saw a very harassed looking Wesley standing behind the bar. 'Wesley,' she scurried over to her friend. 'Where the hell's Angel?' she hissed.

'On his way here**, **I believe.'

'Believe?'

'Well some odd fellow called me on my mobile and said he was with Angel…' The cyclops, Searbhan, strode over and gave Cordelia a stinging slap on the rear, preventing further discussion. 

'Hey,' she yelped, turned, and then gasped and took an involuntary step back as she saw the size of her assailant. 

Searbhan leaned forward and looked Cordelia up and down. 'Now, that's more like it,' he growled. 'I take it ye've heard o'the tradition 'bout the bridesmaid an' the best mahnnn ain't ye darlin?'

'Tradition?'

'Aye, the groom ain't the only one who's getting' lucky t'night.'

Cordelia was spared further leering when Searbhan noticed Lindsey still struggling under the weight of the comatose Rebecca. 'Hey, are yez fucking retarded o'wha?'

Lindsey gave the giant a panic stricken look. 'Excuse me?'

'The bride,' snarled the cyclops and with that he grabbed Rebecca with one hand and shook her in the air like a rag doll. 'The groom ain't supposed to see her till the ceremony,' and walked over to the bar and threw her behind it. He turned back to Lindsey and prodded the lawyer in the chest. 'When th'ceremony starts y'bring over t'Balor and the priest right!' 

'Priest,' Cordelia whispered to Wesley. 'Wedding dresses, bridesmaids. These guys don't look like churchgoers.'

'I don't believe they are, they predate the christian era by centuries, possibly millennia. I imagine they've bought one of their own druids to conduct the service.'

'Great, and what happens to us when the happy couple go off on honeymoon? Scratch that, I know what's in store for me,' she said as Lindsey at down on a nearby stool. 'What's going to happen to you and good ol'evil boy here?' 

Lindsey managed a half smile. 'We're the wedding feast...'

Angel crept through the shadows towards the entrance to Caritas. The main doors had been torn off for the second time in as many days and the sound of Irish demons brutalizing the Rocky Horror Picture Show sallied forth into the night. 

A thin scaly arm reached out to touch him on the shoulder and the owner of said arm squeaked with terror as Angel whirled round and slammed him against the wall. 'Yes?'

The arm's owner was a very thin and elderly red eyed demon wearing a threadbare monks robe that was at least three sizes too large. 'Er,' he whimpered with a soft gaelic lilt. 'I-I'm sorry to trouble ye son, but d'yer know where oi might find Caritas?'

The bar was running dry.

'Now, I done wanna tell yez yer job,' said Searbhan as he held The Host in a none too friendly headlock. 'But it's not a good idea to run outae grog while we're waiting fer the nuptials ta commence. Y'see wha'am saying here?'

'Absolutely,' croaked the Anagogic Demon. 'Don't you fret none honey, The Host's on the case.'

'Grand. Now, where's that bloody priest?' The cyclopes threw The Host to the floor and stormed off into the crowd. 

The Host picked himself and wandered through the nest of burning tabletops. He found Cordelia, Wesley and Lindsey standing behind the bar on tiptoe, sucking in huge lungfuls of air from a vent near the ceiling. A pair of huge electric fans were placed on the bar to repel the smoke emanating from the dwindling alcohol fuelled fires. 'Well,' he sighed. 'Don't mind me, I can keep a bar of drunken insane pure-bloods happy all on my lonesome. You guys just keep on doing what you're doing.'

Wesley turned and glared at him. 'Some of us need fresh air,' he snapped and then pointed at a couple of large Fomorii guarding the front door. 'It's not as if we can pop outside for a couple of minutes,' he grumped and then turned back to the vent. 'Safe haven my arse,' he muttered.

'It is a safe haven,' the Host protested. 'So long as everyone plays by the rules.'

'Wow, flaw in that plan,' said Cordelia without moving away from the vent.

'Okay, okay, if we live through this I know some people who lay a spell on the joint to stop it happening again.' 

There was a groan from the ground and Rebecca Lowell groggily rose from behind the bar and slumped over the counter. The first thing her bleary, and still heavily drugged eyes, saw was the Host. 'Blergh, you're an ugly one.'

The Host gave her a friendly pat on the head. 'And you sweetie are bombed but in the morning I'll still be ugly and you'll be sober and being ridden by a scabby critter with bad fishy BO and who has one burning eye.' 

Cordelia downed a shot of tequila. 'Been there, done that.' 

Balor was not a happy one-eyed death god. '_Where's Calatin!'_ He screeched and then actually stamped his foot. '_Where is my priest? I can't get married without my priest!'_

'Patience, lad, patience,' said Searbhan in a soothing tone. 'Sure Cally wouldn't be late, he married yer' da.'

'_Well where is he?'_

'Here son, here,' croaked the skinny demon as he staggered down the stairs. 'Had a wee bit'o trouble finding the place.'

Balor loped over to the priest and hugged him. '_Good to see you.'_

'You too son, you too, now,' the priest threw back its hood to reveal a rather scrawny and wrinkled demon. Wesley gave the priest an appraising look. 'My word, these demons are thousands of years old and yet none of them show any sign of their years but the priest looks ancient.'

'So?' Snapped Lindsey

'Well, imagine how old he must be, the things he must have seen…'

Lindsey didn't look interested. 'And imagine the things we're going to see in the next hour.'

Searbahn charged over to the bar and grabbed hold of Rebecca Lowell. The actress was still so out of it all she could do was make a 'wheeeeeeeeeeeee' noise as the cyclopes lifted her over his head and carried her to the stage, where Balor was standing next to Calatin and hopping anxiously from one foot to the other. 

Searbahn dropped Rebecca at Balor's feet. 'Here's the tart.'

Rebecca gazed up at her hooded groom and the ancient priest. 'Oh wow,' she giggled. 'You really royalty?'

'_Absolutely. My mother and my aunt were the same woman**. **If you're from Europe you can't get more royal than that.'_

'That's nice, otherwise that'd mean you were from South Carolina or somewhere.'

Balor looked at his best man. _'Who's giving her away?'_

Searbahn jogged back to the bar and grabbed Lindsey's fake hand with his left and Cordelia with his right and dragged them over. 'The crip's doing the giving and the tart is the maid o'honour.'

Cordelia shook his hand away. 'Hey, I am a seer thank you!'

The watching Fomorii gasped and Calatin looked at Balor. 'Is this true?' He demanded in an outraged tone.

Balor shrugged. _'So Wolfram & Hart told me.'_

'You young idiot, you almost let Searbahn loose on a seer!' Catalin raged. The priest turned to the best man and gave him an order that would stay with Cordelia for the rest of her life. 'Whatever you do, make sure the eyes are still working come morning.'

Searbhan looked disappointed. 'You know I like the eyes.'

'So?'

'All right,' the Cyclopesmoaned. 'I'll make do with her ears.'

'Hey, what? What do you mean my eahmmph,' Cordelia protested as Searbahn covered her mouth with his huge hand.

Calatin looked at a couple of demons in the congregation. 'Kill them,' he said and nodded at Wesley and the Host. 'And make sure they're skinned in time for the feast.'

The two demons grinned and moved towards Wesley and the Host, who were trapped behind the bar.

Balor put his hand on the priest's shoulder, '_Find the place okay?'_

'Ah sure, some young fella pointed it out.' Calatin looked up toward the ceiling, 'Oh look, there he is.'

And before Balor had a chance to follow the priest's gaze, 200lbs of angry vampire landed on his shoulders. The Formorii leader screamed in agony as Angel hauled him to his feet and in a flash had looped the belt he took from Oliver Simon over the demon's hooded head and pulled it tight.

The other Formorii were too drunk to react immediately but got the idea after a couple of seconds and with a roar they surged toward Angel. The vampire shoved Balor, who was struggling to remove his hood now that the hem was tightly strapped under the belt around his neck, to one side and used the stake launchers he hid up his sleeves to send a bolt of wood apiece into the foreheads of the two lead Formorii, before leaping over the heads of the inebriated crowd and turning and twisting the head off one at the back when he landed.

'Get out of here,' he yelled at Wesley and the Host before he was sent flying across the room by Searbhan, who dropped Cordelia and Lindsey and lumbered over to deal with the gate crasher. 

'We can't leave him,' protested Wesley, before he was bowled over by Lindsey as the lawyer fled. 

Balor was doing an angry little dance in a corner as Calatin struggled to undo the belt, a job made all the more difficult by his master**'**s constant fidgeting. '_KILL HIM!' _The demon lord screeched. 

Cordelia, dragging the comatose Rebecca away from the melee, looked over to see Searbhan and the remaining Fomorii throw themselves upon her boss. 'ANGEL!'

'Go,' came the vampire's voice from under the scrum. 'Go, _'When the night, has come…**' **_

Upon hearing the brief bit of singing the Host didn't waste any time. 'Okay kiddies,' he snapped and grabbed hold of Wesley before he could go to help Angel. 'Let's go, we so don't want to see this.'

Wesley and Cordelia took one look at his expression and didn't bother to argue. The trio picked Rebecca up and staggered out of the ravaged bar.

'Tha's it lads,' yelled Searbhan as he circled the snarling heap of Formorii, ' tear his fucking head off.'

The demon on top of the heap suddenly gave a howl of agony as a blood stained fist punched through its back and then the whole pile scattered as Angel, clothes torn to shreds, extremely bruised and with most of the skin on the right side of his face missing, threw the dead Formoii at Searbahn and grabbed a broken bottle from the floor.

'Boss, look out!' Yelled Searbhan as the vampire, an insane glint in his one eye that wasn't swollen and bleeding, shoved the terrified Calatin aside and slashed the broken glass across Balor's hooded face, tearing a big hole in the hood and slicing off the Formorii leaders eyelid.

Angel didn't stop to inspect the damage he'd done and raced towards the bar and hurled himself over it as Balor, blinded by pain and blood, unleashed his power upon the entire room.

Calatin, Searbhan and the other Fomorii barely had time to move before their injured leader roasted them. '_WHERE ARE YOU,' _shrieked Balor, stumbling over the charred meat that had only seconds before been the last of the Fomorii species. '_WHERE ARE YOU?'_

Angel crouched behind the bar and, using the huge mirror that was positioned behind it, watched as Balor groped blindly through the haze-filled room. Most of the fires the Fomorii had lit on the tables had burnt themselves out, but one or too were still going, Angel picked up a bottle of brandy that had somehow managed to survive the evening's binge and quietly unscrewed the top. He waited until Balor, who was gibbering and cursing about _his bride_, bumped into one of the burning tables and with pinpoint accuracy threw the open bottle over his shoulder where it gently arced across the bar and smashed onto the burning table**, **covering Balor in expensive, and highly flammable, alcohol. 

He watched the last Fomorii twist and bellow in pain as the fire quickly consumed his booze-soaked robes until the creature sank to his knees and fell limply onto his burnt face. The vampire sat quietly for a couple of minutes, listening to the sound of crackling flesh, and then painfully got to his feet and inspected what was left of Caritas. 'Huh, they'll let anyone in.'

When he got into work the next morning**, **Holland Manners was very unhappy to learn about the previous night**'**s events. 'Now come on Lindsey**,**' he said with a winsome smile. 'There's no need to be like that. You'd have been perfectly safe.'

'Safe,' said Lindsey in a quiet and dangerous voice. 'They were going to eat me!'

Holland looked at the glock 9mm in Lindsey's left hand and decided not to press his luck. 'Well, yes I suppose they would have - but, they didn't, did they. In fact, as I understand it they're all dead.'

'If you say so, I didn't hang around.'

'And yet again that demonstrates the keen survival instinct that makes you such a prized asset at Wolfram & Hart.'

'Prized!'

'You were there at the explicit invitation of Balor's bride to be, and I hardly need remind you that Balor was a valued client.'

'How?'

'Well…all right, he wasn't, but he was an old friend of one of the senior partners and now he's gone and it's in no way your fault or mine so how about we double your bonus this year and you put the gun away?' 

'I still have those files I copied from the Vanessa Brewer case.'

'I know that, son, that's why it's a genuine offer.' 

Lindsey gave the matter some thought. 'All right,' he said after a couple of uncomfortable minutes and then put away the gun. 'But you give me seniority over the Darla case. Me, not Lilah Morgan.'

Holland's heartbeat slowly dropped from 170. 'Wouldn't have it any other way. Well, excellent, ' he said, clearly feeling a little more relaxed. 'In any event son I'm sure that patented MacDonald ingenuity would have got you through last night. No one who works for the Special Projects division ends their career by being eaten you know.'

He gestured for Lindsey to take a seat and once the younger man sat down it was if the last ten minutes hadn't happened. 'Now,' said Holland as he opened a rather thick file he had in front of him. 'Whilst not wishing to remind you of last night, it seems our intrepid vampire's lovely young seer has suddenly acquired the funds to pay off her debts, in cash first thing this morning, and as the landlord has been unable to rent out her apartment Angel has regained a roof over his head.'

Cordelia stood in the centre of her vandlised living room and took in the devastation. 'Geez Dennis, did you have to be so thorough?'

'Don't complain,' Wesley chided. 'He only did what you asked, no one else wanted the place did they? In fact you got it back at a reduced rate seeing as how no one could set foot in here with out things being launched at their heads.'

'Yeah, but…' she pointed at the various holes in the wall and the boarded up windows, 'I should have stayed at Caritas.' She frowned, 'How the hell is the Host going to get people to go there now?'

'He says he knows some people who can make it safe with a couple of spells,' said Angel as he lay on the couch reading some trashy newspaper, the wounds inflicted upon him were already starting to heal. 'Sisters, nice girls…so I'm told.**'**

'Hm,' she grunted. 'Sure Rebecca Lowell isn't going to make any trouble over this?'

Angel smiled. 'I don't think so. Whatever that stuff Lindsey slipped her was, it seems to have blanked her memory for the last couple of days.' He looked at the tabloid headline 'BULEMIC DRUGGED UP SOAPSTAR FOUND IN WEDDING DRESS ON PARK BENCH!' Besides, when he was bailed I had a little talk with Oliver and he promised to get her some professional help. Plus I told him I'd be keeping an eye on them both…just to make sure they're okay of course.'

'Oh, of course,' agreed Wesley. 'Nice of him to, er, _loan_ us the money to pay off Cordelia's rent arrears wasn't it.'

'That and a small commission for saving Rebecca's life,' Angel said and tossed a rather thick envelope over to Wesley. 'Here, go and get yourself some decent furniture.'

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….


End file.
